Dead Reckoning
by BuryTheHatchet
Summary: "McGee smiled proudly to himself as he tucked the epilogue to his next book, Dead Reckoning, into his folder. He would give the final page of his manuscript to his publisher tomorrow on his way to work, and then it would be out of his hands." McGee's latest novel causes a bit of a stir among some of his co-workers.
1. Dead Reckoning

**I know, I should be working on Brown on Green, Routines and It Takes Two, and I am, you just do not know it because I have not actually got anything to upload for them now. They are all taking longer than I had expected, Brown on Green especially so, and they are giving me headaches every time I even think about them.**

 **But this one is more or less complete, or at least the first three of a possible four chapters are complete.**

 **Nothing to do with the episode of the same title.**

 **This basically stemmed from a conversation about coffee and euphemisms.**

Dead Reckoning

She sat with the pregnancy test in her hand as her world fell down around her. It couldn't be happening.

Not to her…

It couldn't…

She couldn't…

They couldn't…

They had used protection.

Or had they?

They had both been drunk, and, well, most of the night was a blur – an amazing blur – but a blur all the same.

Maybe it was all just a mistake – a false positive.

But she knew that statistically getting three false positives in a row was very unlikely.

She was Mossad for crying out loud, she should have been in control of herself.

It had happened the night they had gotten their boss back from the terrorists, and she had taken it unusually hard. The whole case had been difficult to work as they were absent a leader, and having the senior field agent take over that position had been…trying to say the least. It would have been fine, had he not forced them to participate in his pointless 'campfires'. And then they had broken the case right open, and the team had pulled it together in the last moments to save their boss. She couldn't remember whose idea it had been to go to the bar as a celebration, but she could remember that when they arrived none of them had been in a particularly celebratory mood. So they all wallowed in misery, every so often exchanging stories of close calls and near misses, until they called in a night.

At least, most of them called it a night.

Two federal agents continued to sit in almost silence 'til the copious amounts of alcohol started to take effect. And then they sat, loudly laughing at jokes that weren't funny, until the early hours of the morning crept up on them and the bartender, whose name was not Geoff or Gregory but could have been George, called them a cab.

She shouldn't have stayed at the bar with him once everyone else had left. She shouldn't have accepted mojito after mojito from him. She shouldn't have offered him coffee when they stumbled towards the taxi cab that the barman had called for them. They never even had the coffee, although she was certain that 'coffee' was just an American euphemism anyway, in which case they certainly had 'coffee'. Multiple times. She shouldn't have kissed him as he pressed her against the wall of her apartment building, but then he shouldn't have pressed her against the wall of her apartment building in the first place. She had no idea how they managed to blindly stumble up the stairs, or into her apartment, but she knew that they hadn't made it five feet into her sitting room before they were both on the floor, suffering a severe lack of clothing. At some point they had moved through to her bedroom, knocking over a chair and a lamp in the process.

He'd been gone when she woke in the morning. She went through her daily routine whilst nursing a hangover and avoiding her best friend, not an easy task when you work opposite him, for the next three weeks. She'd assigned the missed period to the stress caused by weeks of dodging him. And then he apologised. And she told him it was unnecessary and it was already forgotten. And for three more weeks they'd been back to normal.

Or they had tried to convince themselves they were back to normal, but they both knew it was a lie. Everyone else saw it too, the loud lack of flirting and joking, the absence of teasing and tormenting. They were professional – something neither of them had ever been around one another.

And then she missed her period a second time, and she conceded that the missed periods weren't stress related, and the vomiting wasn't because she had a stomach bug.

And now she was going to have to tell him that she was pregnant. With his child.

That certainly wasn't going to go down well – he was a ladies man, a player. What would he think? He would run for the hills, she knew it. It was just how he was built.

There was a knock on the locked men's room door and she quickly stood up from the floor, sticking the test in its box and throwing it in the bin, scrubbing her hands as if she could scrub her shame away before turning to the door and yanking it open. The very man she needed to talk to and hoped to avoid for the rest of the day stumbled in, pushing past her to the urinals before stopping and turning slowly around. He stared at the tears coursing down her face.

"What's wrong."

"It was not supposed to happen like this."

"What wasn't?"

"A baby." She let her words sink in and felt her chest tighten as his face fell.

"What baby?" He tried to play the ignorance card, tried to pretend that she wasn't saying what she was saying.

"Yours. I am pregnant, Tommy."

The End…

 _McGee smiled proudly to himself as he tucked the epilogue to his next book, Dead Reckoning, into his folder. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck, yawning and heading off to bed, flicking the light out as he left the room. He would give the final page of his manuscript to his publisher tomorrow on his way to work, and then it would be out of his hands. Everything else was edited, and ready for printing, all that was needed was the epilogue, and it was finally complete. He would start on his forth book whilst his third was being prepared to go on the market._

 **Oh dear, McGee…I fear I shall have to write them threatening you. I would apologise, but it is a sign of weakness. Oh, well.**

 **This will have four parts, maybe more if I can be bothered and can actually come up with anything half decent. All I have been wanting to do recently is write little three or four parters, but the plots keep spiralling out of control and I have had to reorganise everything into specific folders because it was all getting really, really confusing.**

 **The next two chapters are complete though, so they will be uploaded in the next day or so, depending upon how I feel.**

 **Oh, hey, look this is my 50th story that I have uploaded. I like 50. It is a good number. 50 NCIS fictions will be coming up soon, and I have something great planned.**

 **For my reference: 36th NCIS fic.**


	2. Pure Fiction

**I had so much fun writing this. It is probably the funniest of the three chapters that I have written.**

Pure Fiction

She was furious. It was weak of him. Despicable. Rude. Childish. Inappropriate.

And then there was McGee! To have the audacity to write such a thing!

She watched him approach through the lobby of NCIS and kicked off from where she was leaning against the wall next to the elevator, marching over to him, pinching his ear and using it to drag him into the elevator. She glared as a group of paper-pushers and officer workers started to file into the elevator too, and they all backed away, with the exception of one, who seemed to be thinking that he would look really brave if he managed to survive an elevator ride with Ziva David looking as angry as she was. He stood next to them in the tense silence until the doors closed, when she flung her team-mate across the elevator and pushing the brave accountant against the metal wall. She gripped his jaw and twisted his head at a rather uncomfortable angle as she pressed herself so unbelievably close that he could feel her soft heartbeat through the thick jumper she was wearing. She brushed her lips against his ear, her hot breath tickling his cheek. "You are getting off on this floor." She hissed, pulling away just as the doors opened on the first floor.

"But I…yes, Officer David." He scurried away without looking back, heading over to the other elevator just in time to see it open, revealing an angry looking Agent Gibbs. Maybe he would take the stairs to the top floor, it would be good exercise.

Ziva turned back to Tony and slammed the STOP button on the elevator, making him jump.

"There was no need to be mean, Ziva." He tried to smile, but something in her eyes told him that joking was possibly not the best solution to whatever the problem was.

"No need to be mean? How about rude? Bad-mannered? Discourteous? Impertinent? Impudent? Disrespectful?"

"Whoa, what are you talking about?!" He put his hands up in surrender as she screamed into his face.

"Did you or did you not tell him?"

"Tell who what?" Her response was to slam a hardback into his chest. He pried it from her white-knuckle grasp and looked at the cover. _Dead Reckoning, the latest instalment of Thom E. Gemcity's world wide best sellers, featuring L. J. Tibbs._ "Well, that answers the who. What is it that I'm blamed for telling him?"

"You have not read it yet?"

"My copy came in the post last night, I'm not going to waste a night reading McNovelist's writing when I have to go in the next morning and spend a whole day with him. Wait, you did?" He raised his eyebrows at her. "Didn't you sleep or anything."

"I wanted to know what he wrote about us. Read the epilogue." She stood, keeping threateningly close to him as he flicked to the end and read. He reached the last line and looked at her in shock, a mix of emotions passing in a jumble across his face as the book tumbled to the floor. "You told him!"

"I swear, I didn't Ziva!" He flicked his eyes down to her stomach. "Something _you_ wish to tell me?"

"No." She followed his line of sight and her eyes widened. "NO! I am not pregnant, Tony!" He continued to stare at her stomach. "Tony, it was five months ago, I would be showing now if I was!" She slapped him when he didn't respond. He looked up at her, still stunned. "I. Am. Not. Pregnant." She ground out through gritted teeth. She rolled her eyes and turned the elevator back on, muttering under her breath in Hebrew. They both stormed out as soon as the doors slid open and thundered over to McGee's desk. "What do you call this, McGee?!" The book hit the desk with enough force to set off a seismograph.

"Oh, great, you got it!" He looked up and beamed. His smile faltered when he saw their angry glares. "And you didn't like it."

"I am not pregnant!" She screamed at the same time Tony yelled, "My campfires are not pointless!"

She elbowed him in the gut. "And we never slept together!"

"OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod! Is it true? Is it true? Is Ziva pregnant? Oh, my God! Tony and Ziva are having a baby! This is so exciting! It's the first NCIS baby on team Gibbs!" Abby squealed as she ran into the squad room waving about a copy of _Dead Reckoning_ "How come you told McGee and not anybody else? How come you didn't tell me?!" She came to a stop in front of the two fuming agents.

Gibbs stood up from his desk and walked over, his mood already sour from his coffee shop being closed for renovations. "You got her pregnant?!" He shouted at his senior field agent, their faces so close together that their noses brushed as he pointed to Ziva.

"No!" The two accused cried.

"Did you sleep with her?!"

"No!" Ziva shouted.

"Only once!" Tony shouted at the same time. "But she came on to me!" He tried to defend himself, only serving to worsen the situation. By now the whole office was staring and enjoying the display that was better than a badly made soap-opera.

"I did not! You came on to me!"

"Hey, I don't care who came on to who! You broke my rules!" Gibbs yelled at the pair of them.

"It was one night and hardly a date, Gibbs. Just read the epilogue of McGee's book if you want details. It was hardly as romantic as he put it, but apart from the pregnancy it is pretty accurate." Ziva snapped.

"It is?" McGee looked up proudly then looked down again.

"All I want to know is if I didn't tell you, and she didn't tell you, how did you know?!" Tony snarled at him.

"I didn't. It's fiction. It's not based…"

"If you dare finish that sentence I will cut you up, piece by piece, starting with your fingers and not stopping until there is nothing left of you." She snarled. "Now the whole world thinks I am pregnant! My father reads your books!"

"Oh, God. Maybe he doesn't realise that Agent Tommy is me?" Tony didn't like the idea that, fictionally at least, he had knocked up the Director of Mossad's daughter.

"Or that Officer Lisa is Ziva." Abby suggested.

"Abby, how many Mossad liaison officers do you think there are at NCIS?"

"Well, I don't know… There might be a whole Mossad-NCIS exchange program that I know nothing about. Maybe it's like a whole, we send ten agents to them and they give us ten officers in return, kinda like a school exchange. I remember my neighbour had this Spanish exchange student when we were in high school and…"

"Abby! I am the _ONLY_ Mossad liaison officer. There are no others, not even attached to other agencies!"

"No need to shout Ziva, geez." Abby said timidly.

"No need to shout?! Abby, my father is going to kill Tony and probably me for something that McGee wrote in his stupid little book!"

"Hey, my book's not stupid!" McGee stood up, finally having enough of being blamed. Everyone turned on him.

"Yes it is, now sit down and shut up!" Tony, Gibbs and Ziva yelled in unison.

"I need coffee. You two, if it ever happens again, there will be consequences. Understood?" They nodded. "McGee, don't come crying to me when these two retaliate. I'm sure they will." He glared at them all one last time. "Don't kill each other whilst I'm gone!" He stormed out, leaving the room in an oppressive silence that everyone was too afraid to break. Tony and Ziva both moved to their desks to start on damage control, Tony sending a mass email through all federal agencies that they came into regular contact with stating and clarifying the definition of fiction and Ziva sending an email to her father containing a broader explanation, but basically saying the same thing: Thom E. Gemcity writes works of fiction, and the characters' stories are not based on them, it is only their names and background histories that are used.

 **This is by far my favourite of all the chapters.**


	3. Facing Reality

**I will never understand why people insist upon leaving reviews and PMs criticising a story, not because it is a particularly bad story, or for any technical reasons, in fact not leaving any constructive criticism at all, but because they simply do not like the characters – particularly when the characters used are displayed before they start to read, surely if you do not like a character, you could simply avoid fictions with them as a focal point – or because they do not like the plot line, even if the plot-line was hinted at if not clearly laid out in the summary. I know I have certainly stumbled across stories that I did not like, but I would never think of criticising someone's work because they did not write it the way I would have done, or because I did not like the characters, I just hit the back button at the top of my page and put it out of my mind. I know if there is an issue with continuity I will on occasion point it out through a PM, or a polite review, and I am all for constructive criticism, it makes us better at everything we do, but when it is complaining for the sake of complaining I really do not understand it.**

 **I do often wonder whether the people who leave such scathing reviews have ever actually received such a piece of harsh criticism on their work as they dish out. It reminds me of being a child and my teacher not liking the way I had written a piece of prose and giving me the lowest mark in the class for it, something I was not accustomed to, and something that increased the rate of bullying for three months until I came home with a black eye and a bruised ribcage. When I took it to another teacher to ask what I had done wrong, she said there was nothing wrong in a technical sense, and it was written well and fit the brief that we had been given and the only reason it had been marked down was because of a personal preference.**

 **I remember my mother used to say, "If you do not have anything nice to say, do not say anything at all." I always took constructive criticism as being nice, because in the end it will make you better at what you are doing. Personally, I find criticism of the constructive nature to be better than praise because I can use it, whereas praise does not help you improve, however, non-constructive criticism I just find disheartening.**

 **Is it just me? Am I being unreasonable? I probably am.**

 **Although, I have to say, I much prefer that if I am to have someone criticise me, it be via PM rather than review. Less humiliation to add to the sinking feeling of disheartenment.**

 **Therefore, if you really do dislike my work so much that you feel you must be vocal about it, please try and do so via PM instead of reviewing. I would follow the same courtesies with you were our roles reversed and I felt so passionately about something that I just had to write what could be taken to be a rather impolite comment.**

 **Gripe over. Sorry for bringing the mood down. It has not been a good day already and to read reviews and PMs such as some of the ones I have today I momentarily lost control. It is a very small percentage of reviews and a slightly higher percentage of PMs, but none the less, a percentage all the same.**

 **I was considering deleting this Author's Note, and then I decided against it. It might come across harsh, but so do some people's criticisms.**

Facing Reality

She sat with the pregnancy test in her hand as her world fell down around her. It couldn't be happening.

Not to her…

It couldn't…

She couldn't…

They couldn't…

They had used protection.

Or had they?

They had both been drunk, and, well, most of the night was a blur – an amazing blur – but a blur all the same.

Maybe it was all just a mistake – a false positive.

But she knew that statistically getting three false positives in a row was very unlikely.

She was Mossad for crying out loud, she should have been in control of herself.

It had happened the night they were angry with McGee for writing his damn book about them. They had still been ranting about him when they had reached his car and neither noticed that she had climbed in next to him and he had driven to their favourite watering hole. They stormed into the bar and took their usual seats, not caring that they didn't have their usual company there, or that they hadn't finished a case. The bartender, Gerald, placed a martini, a mojito and a dish of peanuts down for them without even asking. He knew them. They came in with the other group of odd people. He knew their orders, too. He knew all the regulars' orders.

They hadn't noticed the glares of the people around them as their tirades grew louder the more they drank.

They didn't notice when their angry cries of protest turned into slurred murmurs of how it was just a stupid book.

They completely ignored the guy who came up and asked them if they were actually the people who Agent Tommy and Officer Lisa were based on and if he could have an autograph.

Ziva lunged when the same man suggested that she should lay off the alcohol if she was pregnant.

Neither of them heard the cheers when their lips collided and silence descended, so absorbed in the kiss that they couldn't care less who was watching, or that the cheers weren't so much that they had kissed, but that they had shut up. Except for the guy who had asked for the autograph. He was cheering for them kissing.

Neither saw the irony of it as they stumbled towards the taxi that Gerald had called for them.

She didn't invite him for coffee, she was a little preoccupied. It is, after all, hard to offer someone coffee whilst you're moaning into their mouth. They'd made it to the bedroom door before they gave up with walking. And clothes. And the idea of a bed.

At some point they had made it the extra four foot to her bed, tossing all of the covers off when they got in the way.

She woke to an empty bed in the morning like she had expected, and nursed a hangover as she went through her usual Saturday routine with a lot less vigour than normal.

By Sunday a deep sense of foreboding had settled itself in the pit of her stomach and refused to leave.

By Monday she was externally back to normal, but internally an emotional wreck.

When she missed her period she put it down to the stress she had put on herself because of the fear of missing her period.

She ignored the nausea.

Or at least she did until Gibbs walked past with extra strong coffee in a cup without the lid because his coffee shop had run out of lids. The litter bin next to her desk was the furthest she made it before emptying the contents of her stomach.

She claimed it was the stomach flu and took the rest of the day off.

And went straight to the drug store.

And so there she sat, her flushed cheek pressed against the cool porcelain of her bathtub, contemplating at which point fiction had morphed into reality and how McGee had predicted what was happening.

She had to tell him. She would never be able to hide it.

Or maybe she could… maybe she could wear baggy shirts, and stay sat down for nine months. Then what? Hide the kid, too?

Yeah, it wasn't going to work.

Maybe she could leave it for a month or two…

No, the longer she left it, the worse it would get.

Anyway, it wasn't going to be difficult, just phone him up, tell him about the baby, tell him he has no obligation and leave it at that. He can go back to his playboy ways and everyone will be happy.

Well, maybe not everyone, but she would cope.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and slid down so she was lying on the floor with her knees raised. She hit speed dial 1 and waited for an answer. He picked up just as she was about to leave a message.

"Tony?"

"Ziva? You okay? You sound awful. Hang on, I'll be right over. I'll bring chicken soup." And he hung up. He hadn't even given her a chance to explain. He hadn't given her the chance to tell him she didn't want chicken soup.

She lay on the cold slate tiles, the finger of one hand drawing spirals around her bellybutton as the other hand traced the strict lines of the grouting between the tiles. She closed her eyes, trying to find any indication that she was in a bad dream. She couldn't find any.

Gibbs had warned them there would be consequences, although she was certain these weren't the consequences he was talking about.

He burst through the door then, looking rather out of breath, like he had run up her stairs and picked the lock on her front door. He probably had. "Ziva? Ziva?" He crouched down next to her, about to check for a pulse.

"Touch me and die, DiNozzo." She growled, not even opening her eyes.

"Got it. You okay?" She shook her head and sat up abruptly, vomiting in the toilet. When she was done she looked down and grabbed the pot of chicken soup he had brought with him, tipping it down the toilet as well. "Hey! Chicken soup's supposed to make you feel better! I brought that for you!"

"It made me feel sick."

"You didn't even try it."

"I could smell it." She groaned, reaching up and grabbing the bottle of water sat on the edge of the basin, knocking the three pregnancy tests to the floor in the process. He looked at them, not realising what they were for almost a minute, and then his head swivelled to stare at Ziva, then down to her stomach. He took on the same expression he had when he had read McGee's book and she slapped him to wake him up. Then tried a head slap. Both failed. So she slowly eased herself up, not trusting her legs to hold her upright but not having any other choice, and helped him to his feet. She placed two hands on his shoulders and pushed him gently through to the sofa, where she forced him to sit down. He continued to stare into nothingness as she walked to the glass-fronted cabinet between her bookshelf and her upright piano and grabbed a bottle of Scotch and a glass. She poured a generous glassful and placed it in his hand, sitting on the coffee table in front of him as he knocked it back.

She filled the glass again and he chuckled. "Trying to get me drunk, Zee-Vah? Isn't that how we got into this mess in the first place?" She closed her eyes at the jibe and slammed the bottle down next to her. "Sorry." He mumbled as she stood up and walked over to the window, pressing her forehead against the cold glass and closing her eyes to create a barrier to prevent the tears from falling.

"Get out."

"Ziva…"

"Get out!" She whirled on him, her eyes flaring with a fire he had never seen in them before. He'd never seen the mixture of hatred, disgust and offence in anyone's eyes, but the combination was particularly hard to look at in her beautiful chocolate eyes.

"What do we tell people?"

"We?! WE?! There is no WE Tony! I will tell people that it was a one night stand, as it was, and you will keep your mouth shut! Now get out of my apartment!" She grabbed his collar in her fist and shoved him out of the door. "Go. Please." She slammed the door in his shocked face and slid down the wall, curling into a tight foetal position and crying herself to sleep.

 **Okay, I really cannot leave it there. I was going to, and now I have realised that I cannot. It would not be right.**

 **This was also supposed to be a lot funnier than it turned out. That might have something to do with the rather snippy author's note at the beginning though. Oh, well…**


	4. Aftermath

**I know, I left the last chapter horribly. And since I did originally say that there was a possibility that there would be four chapters… This is sort of short, but I like it.**

Aftermath

"Boss, where's Ziva?" McGee asked, looking up from his desk. Tony slumped sullenly over his, working silently. Gibbs cast a glance to Ziva's empty chair and then turned back to McGee.

"Sick." He went back to his work and the room was plunged into silence once more.

"She's been sick for a week now. Maybe we should go check on her."

"She doesn't need checking on. She's fine." Tony grumbled, not letting the worry that was consuming him show. She didn't want him there, she didn't want his help, so she wasn't going to get it.

"If she's fine then why isn't she here?"

"I am here, McGee." She walked in and sat down. "Sorry I am late, Gibbs, I overslept. It will not happen again."

"Better not, David." He looked down at his watch and then up at her. "You feelin' okay?"

"Fine." She smiled and nodded, removing her coat and bag and placing them on the cabinet behind her. She caught Tony staring and glared at him, giving a subtle shake of her head that was only noticeable you knew to look for it, much like the slight curve of her stomach, tiny and unnoticeable to anyone who didn't know it was there.

"DiNozzo, there something wrong?" Gibbs walked up behind him, waking him up with a slap to the back of his head. He was brought out of his staring contest with Ziva and looked up at his boss.

"Not at all. I'm just peachy." He said sarcastically, turning back to glare at Ziva. She just turned to her monitor and started working.

He looked between his two best field agents. "There a problem here?"

"Not at all, Gibbs." She smiled at him.

"DiNozzo?"

"No, Boss. No problem."

"Well stop staring at David and get on with your work!" He barked. "I'm going for coffee. I want you to have finished those reports when I get back."

"You okay, Ziva?"

"Fine, thank you, McGee." She smiled at him, ignoring Tony as he walked over and leant on her desk.

"We need to talk."

"No. There is nothing to talk about." She shook her head, not looking in his eyes for fear of what she might see there and what might be seen in her own. He clenched his hands into fists and sat back at his desk, snapping a witty comment at McGee when he asked what was going on.

* * *

He watched from where he was stood in the broom cupboard under the stairs to MTAC as she walked past. He stuck a hand out and gripped her wrist, tugging her inside and closing the door behind them. He knew he was risking his life, ambushing an angry Mossad officer, but she refused to talk to him and they needed to talk. He was slammed against the wall in an instant.

"What do you think you are doing?!" She spat, one of her many knives pressed against the soft skin of his neck. She backed away suddenly when she realised who it was who had attacked her and looked away.

He rubbed his neck where the blade had been pressed. "When are you going to tell them?"

"When I am ready." She snapped.

"They'll start to notice soon. And you know that none of them like being kept in the dark."

"This is my decision, Tony. I have already told you, you have no part in this."

"What if I want a part in this? That's my kid you're pregnant with, surely I get some say in what goes on, don't I?"

"No." She shook her head and reached for the door handle.

"Wait. Just…wait." He released her wrist from where he had grabbed it a second time. "Can you just…make sure you take care of yourself and the baby, book an appointment with the doctor and have a check-up and a scan and…"

"I did. This morning." She looked down, avoiding eye contact.

He frowned and his shoulders fell slightly. "Oh. And is everything okay?"

"Yes. Both the baby and I are healthy." She nodded stiffly. "I would appreciate you not making this difficult, Tony."

"Me making it difficult? It's you who's keeping my child from me!"

"Lower your voice. Someone could hear."

"I don't care if they do!"

"But I do. Please, Tony?" Her voice cracked and he thought he saw tears sparkling in her eyes. "I am sorry I shouted at you last week, but…" She paused. "Just, I think it would work better if I handle this on my own."

"But Ziva, it's my kid too." His voice had no anger in it now, it was just resigned and hurt.

She shook her head. "Tony, I can see no way that we could make this work. We would not work together – we cannot be a couple just because I am pregnant, Tony. That would not be a good idea."

"There's always joint custody, I have the kid for one week, you have the kid the next week."

"A baby is a lot of work, Tony. Little to no sleep, they need constant care, you will not be able to date…Besides, Gibbs will not be happy when he finds out I am pregnant anyway, let alone when he finds out you are the father. I think it would be best to keep that part wrapped up."

"Under wraps. And I disagree."

"I know you do. But it is for the best." She smiled at him and he nodded, uncertain whether she was right. "Thank you." She stepped hesitantly closer to him and placed a hand on his cheek, looking up at his eyes and pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. And then she was gone, like she had never been there at all, and the door was clicking closed behind her. The only thing that convinced him that she had actually been there talking to him was the faint scent of her that still lingered in the cupboard, the subtle smell of citrus that surrounded her and followed her everywhere she went, and the soft impression of her lips at the corner of his mouth, warmer than the rest of his skin.

 **Hmm, that was a lot calmer than I had planned for it to be. I had expected shouting and screaming and big fights and explosions. I have another two chapters written up, as well. They were both on the end of this chapter, but I decided they did not fit nice and neatly. I really had wanted this to be 4 chapters, maximum. Oh, well… I think I really need to be getting on with It Takes Two. Which, in fact, I am, you just have no proof of it. Yet. I am having trouble filling in the chapters between the ones that I have already written.**

 **Anyway, there will be a few more chapters.**


	5. Reveal

**I am struggling to come up with chapter names now. I had only counted on there being four chapters. This chapter has actually been written up since I uploaded the last one, the thing that took the time was coming up with the title. I can honestly say that I have never had this much trouble coming up with titles for anything. And I am still not happy with it. If you have any suggestions for a better title for this chapter then if you could suggest them I would be very grateful.**

 **Oh, and happy Forth of July for everyone in America. I do not live in America, nor am I American, but I do understand the significance of the date. For the rest of us we can celebrate today as the day that Alice Liddell requested that Lewis Carroll told her a story to entertain herself and her sisters on a boating trip – and thus Alice's Adventures in Wonderland was born.**

Reveal

"Gibbs, I do not…"

"Ziva, this isn't negotiable. An order is an order. Go down to Abby, get ready. You leave in an hour." Gibbs handed her a file and pointed to the elevator. "Abby's got clothes for you."

"Gibbs! Why can I not wear my own clothes?"

"David, how many hookers do you know who wear…" he waved his hand at the cargo pants and loose button-down shirt, "that?" Even he had noticed the sudden changed from tight t-shirts and sweaters to baggier shirts and blouses, often with a blazer. He could only suspect what was going on, he had no proof. However, his gut was being very unreliable on this one and he wasn't stupid enough to question her about his suspicions – he knew how touchy the average woman could be on subjects such as potential pregnancy and weight, and Ziva wasn't your average woman. She growled and snatched the file from his hand, storming out of the squad room.

She took the elevator down to Abby's lab where she was accosted by the energetic scientist. "Undercover again! I love it when you guys go undercover, but I'm always so worried that you'll get hurt."

"Abby, I will be fine. I will have the others watching my back the whole time. All I have to do is get the officer back to the hotel room where he can be arrested." She took a deep, stabilising breath.

"Easy as pie." Abby grinned. "Which means you will need some new clothes, because, really, you're not enticing anyone into a hotel room wearing that."

"What is wrong with what I am wearing?" She looked down as she followed Abby through into her lab, freezing the moment she saw the dress laid out on the table. "I do not think that that will fit."

"What are you talking about? I got it in your size. Anyway, the material stretches, which is why it looks so small." She handed over the little red article and Ziva bit her lip. "You can change in the ballistics lab whilst I get everything else ready." She nodded, her stomach churning. She had been doing so well at hiding the pregnancy, and now a stupid undercover op and everything would be out in the open. She made her way through to the makeshift changing room and ran a hand through her hair. She closed her eyes and stood a moment to try and calm herself down. She started slowly undressing, taking her time to fold each item of her clothing fastidiously neatly. She pulled the dress on and groaned, using her reflection in the windows to gauge how obvious her bump was. It wasn't too bad. If she wasn't in the tight dress, she could probably continued to hide it for at least two more weeks. She slid down to sit on the floor as she considered her options.

Abby knocked on the door. "Ziva? Where'd you go? Are you ready?"

"I am sat on the floor. I am fine, I just…is there a jacket that can go with this?"

"It's the middle of summer, it's not going to be cold. What's going on?"

"Nothing. Is this the only dress or is there a second option?"

"That's the only one I have with me. Why? What's wrong? Ziva, I'm coming in, okay?" The door slid open and Ziva leapt up.

"I am fine, Abby, but…" She trailed off as Abby's gaze fell to where her hand was resting on her small bump and her jaw dropped. She started squealing and Ziva scrambled across the room to her, clamping a hand over her friend's mouth to silence her. "Abby, please be quiet." She cast a fleeting look out of the ballistics lab, ducking and taking Abby down with her when a lab tech looked in through the main door to the lab, put on high alert by Abby's excitement. "Will you stop screaming if I remove my hand?" Abby nodded and Ziva carefully removed her hand, grabbing a tissue and rubbing off the purple lip print on her palm.

"So this is why nobody's seen you in anything tight-fitting?! Congratulations!"

"Abby, shhh!" She held a finger to her lips, her eyes carrying a warning that told Abby that she really ought to be quiet.

She wrapped her arms around Ziva's neck and lowered her voice so she was shouting whilst whispering. "A baby?! This is great!"

"No, Abby, I have been trying to keep it a secret. Please. I do not want anybody to know." She pleaded. "Is there nothing that might hide it better than this dress?"

The Goth paused for a moment and thought. "I might have a dress at home that will work. Hold on." She stood up and ran out of the ballistics lab, slamming the main door to her lab shut and then picking up her phone. "McGee. I need you to do me a favour. I need you to go to my place and pick up a black dress. It's got spaghetti straps and it's kinda got a flared skirt starting just under the bust, with a white lace petticoat sort of thing that makes it more 'puffed out'. You know the one – I wore it to that concert a few weeks ago, the one where you went home early because you had a headache. It should be on a red hanger. Bring it to my lab ASAP. I need it within the next half an hour." She dropped the phone onto the cradle without giving him time to respond and walked back into the ballistics lab to smile at Ziva's worried expression. "Come on. Let's have a talk."

"Abby, I do not want to talk about it." She shook her head as Abby led her through to the middle room of the lab and sat her down on the desk chair, perching on the edge of her desk.

"The door's locked. No-one's going to interrupt us." She said softly, laying a gentle hand on the Israeli's bare knee, exposed by the short dress. "How far along are you?"

"A little over three months." Ziva sniffed, backhanding an errant tear that had somehow leaked from the corner of her eye. "I do not know why I am crying."

"Hormones? Stress?" Abby suggested with a shrug, placing a hand on Ziva's shoulder and squeezing it gently. "How long have you known?"

"That week I had off sick the other month. I had the scan the morning I came back."

Abby opened her mouth and then closed it again, trying to find a sensitive way to phrase her next question and failing. "What about the father?"

"He is not a concern. It was only a one night stand, and when I told him he said he wanted nothing to do with me or the baby, so…" It wasn't an out-and-out lie, just a slight manipulation of the truth. "But I am fine with that. I do not need his help."

"Oh, Ziva!" Abby flung her arms around her friend and hugged her. "You'll never be alone. You'll always have me and McGee and Gibbs and Ducky and Tony. Tony will always be there for you, 'cause you two are like best friends." Ziva nodded over her shoulder, trapped by Abby's arms as she stared out at the lab without actually seeing anything, a torrent of tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

* * *

"Abby! Why's the door locked?!" McGee pounded on the door. "What's going on?"

"McGee! Did you get the dress?" Abby asked, slipping out of the door and closing it behind her before he could see into her lab.

"Yeah, it's right here. What's going on?"

"The dress I got Ziva didn't, uh…look right."

"So why's the door locked?" McGee frowned as the dress was whipped out of his hands.

"Because Ziva's getting changed."

"Gibbs wants her ready in ten minutes. He also told me to brief her in that time." Abby ducked into her lab and he placed his foot in the way of the door to stop her from closing it.

"McGee, move your foot!"

"No. I have to brief Ziva. She was supposed to be ready half an hour ago." He stood his ground.

"Abby, just blindfold him. Then he can brief me whilst I change." McGee heard Ziva call from inside the lab and smiled, pointing to the small gap in the door. Abby continued to look sceptical, but pulled his tie off of him and wrapped it around his head so it covered his eyes.

"It this really necessary?"

"Yes!" Both women shouted.

"Okay, okay…" He took Abby's arm as she guided him over to where Ziva was stood, still in the red dress. "Was it the right dress?"

"Yeah." Abby said, holding it up for Ziva to approve. She just nodded, her mood on a downwards spiral. Ziva pulled the red dress off and shimmied into the black one. "It looks…good." She hazarded.

"Abby, the bust is too tight. It is painfully uncomfortable." McGee choked at Ziva's words as Abby loosened the lace-up back.

"Better?"

"As better as it can be."

"So, um, the, uh, the case, it uh, we've got, um…" McGee squirmed and stuttered. "It, er, there was a, um…" Both women sniggered and Ziva couldn't help but think that it might have been the first time she had properly laughed in almost a month.

"Spit it up, McGee."

"Out, Ziva. Spit it out." Abby smiled.

"I know. I did that one on purpose. I thought it might help McGee focus on the case."

"Right, the case. Our officer, suspected of selling weapons to al-Qaeda, will be leaving his usual bar at 2300h, as per normal on a Friday night, and will be looking for some company. You'll suggest taking him back to a hotel you know. We've already got a room for you. Once you're there, Gibbs wants you to start asking him about his day, what he's been doing. Our witness says that he was cocky, arrogant, carelessly telling her everything because he knew she would never be a credible witness. Are you listening, Ziva?"

"No." She shook her head absentmindedly, looking in the mirror that Abby pulled out.

"Nobody will be able to tell." Abby whispered in Ziva's ear. "You look fine."

"Abby, this dress is shorter than the other one. It does not feel…right." She hissed.

The Goth walked over to her desk and pulled out a packet, throwing it over to Ziva. "They're my spare pair." She said as the liaison officer caught the unopened pack of fishnet tights.

"I do not think these will help."

"Stop whining Officer David." She commanded and walked back over.

"Hey, can I go now?"

"Yes, McGee. I will be up in five minutes." He stumbled away blindly, not wanting to be shouted at for removing his blindfold until he was outside of the lab. Abby held up a pair of stilettos.

"You gonna be okay in these?"

"Abby, I will be fine."

"Be careful out there. Please. Don't accept anything he offers you to drink, and don't do anything I wouldn't do." Ziva raised her eyebrows. "Okay, bad idea. Don't do anything McGee wouldn't do."

"Well, that counts out being dressed like this. And the heels. Oh well, I guess I will just have to tell Gibbs that Officer Adams will have to put up with the cargo pants and button-downs."

Abby threw her arms around Ziva. "Please stay safe. You and baby."

"I will, Abby. But can you keep the baby talk to a minimum? Just until I figure out what is going on and how I feel?"

"Sure. Now go on. Go catch the bad guy."

* * *

"David, calm down. You're looking nervous."

"Sorry, Gibbs." She mumbled as she fidgeted, the dress uncomfortable and the shoes even more so.

"You look distracted."

"All I can think about is chocolate ice cream and olives." She muttered into the mic.

"Together?" McGee questioned. "Ew."

"I think it would work. The sweetness of the chocolate and the saltiness of the olives."

"Ziva!" Gibbs' voice crackled through the earwig as he shouted.

"Sorry." She leant against the brick wall, trying not to feel self-conscious in the skimpy dress. Her hand made its way up to her forehead where beads of sweat were accumulating.

"You okay, Ziva?" Tony asked, worry tinting his voice.

"Fine." She growled and she was certain that she could hear Gibbs' hand collide with the back of Tony's head.

* * *

"What the hell's going on, David?!"

"Sorry."

"Sorry? You spent the whole operation unfocused and distracted!" Gibbs yelled and, although she didn't visibly flinch, internally all she wanted to do was curl up and cry.

"We caught him, did we not?" She kept her expression stony, maintaining the façade of strength. Both McGee and Tony jumped when Gibbs hand collided loudly with the side of the elevator.

"You could have blown the whole thing! You were unprofessional."

She grit her teeth and turned away for a moment, to find her voice. "I told you that I was uncomfortable with the op when you gave it to me."

"And when I asked for a reason you didn't give me one!" He was angry. He would admit it. She, the most professional of all his agents, and the most experienced, was sloppy, made two mistakes, and almost blew her cover. "Care to explain?!" The doors slid open and she stormed out before he could stop her.

Abby was sat in Ziva's chair, waiting for their return, and she swivelled when she heard the raised voices. "What's going on?"

"Officer David! Where do you think you are going?!"

"Home." She said as she grabbed her bag and coat.

"You've not been dismissed."

She whirled on him, pulling out her SIG and badge. The room went silent as everyone prepared for her to shoot him. But instead she thrust them at his chest. "There. Consider me dismissed!" She marched out of the bullpen and into the elevator in the stunned silence.

"GIBBS! What did you do that for?!" Abby cried, jumping up and balling her hands in to fists, ready to fight him if she needed to.

"She messed up."

"She's pregnant!" McGee let out an appropriate gasp of genuine surprise, whilst Tony acted shocked and Gibbs simply narrowed his eyes.

"Then why didn't she tell me?"

"She's Ziva." As if this were explanation enough. And it was. For Ziva, the idea of family was not a natural one, or at least, she had never had the idea of having her own family. And she lived in a way that was planned – she was cautious, made sure everything fit with her ordered life so that when need be she could pick everything up and change. A child did not fit this neat, ordered life that she had developed. The idea of an unplanned pregnancy was, too, something that she would have difficulty discussing. She had been brought up by a strict Jewish father in a different world to the rest of them. Her whole life, she would have grown up with the knowledge that whomever she married would have to have her father's approval, and that went for having children, too.

"So that's why she needed a different dress." McGee nodded, understanding.

"She say who the father is, Abs?" Gibbs asked, his gaze fixed firmly on DiNozzo. Tony glared back defiantly. He wasn't happy about it, but he knew that she didn't want anyone to know, and, even if he didn't agree, he sort of understood why. He understood, just from Gibbs' glower, that if it were to be revealed that he was the father, he would not be living to see the birth of his child.

"A one night stand. Apparently he wanted nothing to do with her or the baby."

"You know anything about this, DiNozzo?"

"No Boss, can't see why I would." He shrugged, hiding his clenched fists behind his back.

"Well, you and David seem so close – I'm surprised she didn't tell you."

"Obviously it wasn't something she felt comfortable sharing. And besides, we're not that close." Gibbs glared at him, but decided to let it go, too tired to pick any fights after the day they'd had.

* * *

He knocked on her front door. He was pretty certain that of all the faces she would want to see, his would be at the bottom of the list. Or not on the list at all. After all, she had spent the past few months blanking him out completely. But he knocked anyway. The door opened and she appeared, looking washed out and tired, her eyes red. She was wearing an old pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt so worn that the logo was illegible and there were holes along the hem. "What do you want?"

"To make you feel better. Can I come in?" He looked at her hopefully, keeping his eyes firmly on her face so as not to be tempted to look at the bump that he knew was there under the t-shirt that he was certain was one of his old ones and knew that if he stared at he would definitely not live to see the next sunrise. She sighed and nodded wearily, moving back so he could walk through. She narrowed her eyes at a paper bag that was clutched in his hand, but said nothing as she curled up on the end of the couch like she had been before he turned up at her door.

"What do you want?" She repeated.

"My best friend sat at the desk opposite mine. He expects you back in tomorrow, by the way. Apparently he wasn't very impressed by your temper tantrum." He placed her badge and weapon on the coffee table, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch.

"I do not want to go back."

"If you don't go back, you have to return to Israel." He said quietly, and she knew he was right. She also knew that, although she had told him she did not want him involved, she was still carrying his child, and whatever happened, he did have a right to see his child grow up. "Do you really hate working at NCIS so much that you're willing to give it all up?" She shook her head.

"I love it at NCIS and I love it in America, you know that."

"I know." He nodded and smiled sadly. They sat in a solemn silence for five minutes, Ziva picking at invisible fibres on the sofa and Tony staring at her as she did so.

"What is in the paper bag?"

"Oh, I almost forgot. Well, actually, I did forget." He pulled out a tub of chocolate ice cream and a jar of olives, as well as two spoons.

She smiled. "What is this?"

"You said you wanted chocolate ice cream and olives. And although McGee disagrees, I think you really are on to something." He smirked.

"I will get bowls."

"Bowls?! No, we're not eating from bowls. We eat from the tub. It's comfort food. Bowls and comfort food should not be in the same sentence." He shifted over slightly so they were close enough to share the food whilst still not touching. As he ate he allowed his gaze to wander up and down her body and his eyes fell on her stomach. He wanted to reach out and touch the slight roundness of it, just to prove that it was real, but he also wanted to keep both hands fully attached to his arms.

When she noticed the path of his sight, she placed her spoon down, sighed and shook her head. "You had been doing so well."

"Yeah, well, I think we all know how little self control I have." He placed his spoon next to hers. "Gibbs knows."

"You told him?! What gave you the right?!" She was up in a second, distancing herself from him across the room.

"He shouldn't have been the way he was towards you." He held his hands up in defence. He wasn't going to tell the truth, tell her it was Abby who had told Gibbs. There was no point in ruining their friendship, particularly if there was as little hope as it seemed to rekindle their own friendship.

"He was right. I almost ruined the mission."

"But you didn't." He shook his head. "We got the guy. You did good."

"If I had done well then the baby would still be a secret."

"Maybe it's best this way. Now the others can watch out for you, too." Not that he had been doing a very good job of watching out for her.

"I do not need watching out for, Tony. I am perfectly fine on my own."

"Everyone needs someone watching out for them." He stood up. "You look tired. It's been a long day – you should get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Bright and early." She nodded, walking him to the door. He hesitated on the threshold, staring down at the small, barely visible protrusion at her stomach. He probably wouldn't have noticed it if he didn't know it was there, and he didn't know that Ziva had always had a completely flat, toned stomach. His hand hovered, lingering between them, before he clenched it into a fist and dropped it to his side.

"Okay, well…goodnight." He cautiously leaned forward and placed a light kiss on her forehead, bowing his head and leaving the apartment.


	6. Reconciliation

**I am shattered and struggling with insomnia at the moment, as well as not being particularly well. This, other than finishing a couple of chapters of my 50th NCIS fic, is all I have written since whatever it was that I uploaded last.**

 **I do not know if I like this one. It has been on my hard drive for a while, unfinished. So I thought I might finish it.**

Reconciliation

Ziva walked into the quiet office, the grey light of the early morning making everything look pale and washed out. The entire building was deserted, save the two security guards in the lobby. They had been rather shocked when she had walked through the doors of the NCIS building, her bump revealed by the woollen jumper she had chosen that morning after a long time deliberating over whether to mask the pregnancy any longer. Since it was apparent that Tony had told Gibbs, and she assumed, therefore, that McGee knew too, it seemed that there was no reason to keep it a secret anymore, since it would hardly be a secret anyway, what with the whole of the MCRT knowing, and she knew that rumour had a habit of spreading like wildfire throughout the NCIS building. Besides, she doubted her ability to hide it much longer anyway.

She scanned the room, satisfied that the absence of a cup of coffee on Gibbs' desk meant that she had arrived in before him, which was only to be expected, it being 0455h. She was not quite ready to face him after, as Tony had phrased it, her 'temper tantrum' the previous night. After being unable to sleep for the majority of the night, and then a run which resulted in a lower performance than normal, she was tired and in a bad mood. That combined with an imbalance of hormones and she was not certain that she would be able to control herself if someone irritated her.

She hit the power button on her computer, banging it on the top for good measure in the hope that it would speed up the boot-up sequence. It did not, but it released some of the pent-up anger that was humming through her. It made sense to write up her report for the op the previous day and have it on Gibbs' desk before he asked for it, in order to appease him before he could become angry with her again.

Every five minutes or so, she would lift her head and look over to Tony's empty desk. It did not particularly bother her that Gibbs was not sat at his desk, nor that McGee was not sat at his, but it felt unnatural to be sat across from Tony's desk without him there, making jokes and flirting. It had always been that way. Whenever he was out with McGee or Gibbs, and she was sat without him, there was an oppressive silence that hung like a cloud over the squad room.

It was not that she wanted Tony there, no – he could be annoying and childish and immature, and he kept looking at her, daring her to pronounce him as the father – but it was like his presence filled a room and when he was not there it was empty. She would not deny that she was attracted to him, who would? But that was just that, there were no deeper feelings, just physical attraction and tension. And that was why, with the added copious amounts of alcohol, she and he fell into bed, and the rest, as they say, is history.

However, it was not just history. And it was not just physical attraction and tension, or just alcohol for that matter. Although they all had a role to play. Two times. She groaned and dropped her head onto her folded arms. She could not believe she could have been so stupid. There were certain feelings that were not allowed, and she harboured all of them for her partner – the murderous anger, the dizzying attraction, the electrifying shock when their skin brushed. And it was all wrong. She had always been able to keep her emotions in check, only show what was needed at the time, but recently she had been having difficulty, and she was certain that it was not just the imbalance of hormones because these feelings had been brimming over since before their stupid one night stand. She scoffed at her state of affairs, her father's stern voice echoing through her head with his teachings. 'A good warrior is made of iron and steel. When was the last time your spoon came crying to you about how unfair the world was? Emotions are weakness.'

Just then the elevator dinged and McGee walked through, pausing at her desk and smiling softly. "Are you…are you okay?"

"Fine. Thank you, McGee." She nodded stiffly.

"You know we'll be here for you, right?"

"I do not need such help, McGee. I will be just fine on my own." Her voice sounded slightly hesitant and she cursed herself for being incapable of not hiding any weakness that might be there.

"Yeah, well, just in case you change your mind, we'll all be here. You know where to find us."

* * *

They were collecting the final evidence for the case, wrapping up the loose ends. Gibbs had sent them to the Petty Officer's ex-wife's house to collect the bank statements that proved his guilt, and though Ziva had tried to protest, she had little ground and was already in Gibbs bad books for the day – apparently he still had not moved on from her 'temper tantrum' the night before, although he had asked her how she was feeling and told her that she needed to speak to the director about maternity leave in what could be considered a kind tone, but only if once was a close acquaintance of Gibbs not-kind tone.

The Petty Officer's ex-wife sat on the couch, holding her young daughter in her arms, a look of disgust on her face. "I just, I never thought he could actually…I knew he was a dirtbag, but I never thought he was actually bad…"

"You said you had the bank statements ready for us?" Tony asked.

"Oh, I'll just get them…um…are you able to take her for a moment?" She carefully proffered the squirming child to him when he didn't respond.

Taking the baby girl and cradling her in his arms, he looked down and smiled. She laughed at him and he wasn't certain if it was because the face he pulled at her was funny, or if it was just him looking naturally funny, but he decided that laughing was better than crying, so he continued with the face-pulling, making her cackle and squeal with delight. He bounced her in his arms, surprisingly enjoying the feeling of her weight and letting his mind wonder to his child, the one his partner was carrying. The one he wanted to be there for, more than anything. "Hi, there…hi…" He cooed, taking her small hand between his thumb and forefinger as she nestled her small face into his shirt.

Ziva stared as he bounced the infant and felt like the world was falling away from her. She watched as he smiled, and could not separate the little fair-haired girl in his arms from the image of the dark-haired boy in her mind. Could not get the image of Tony with their child out of her head. She ran a hand through her hair and rubbed her forehead, standing up abruptly.

"You okay?"

"I…I need some air." She turned on her heel and walked out of the house, grabbing the keys to the Dodge from her pocket and ignoring him when he called her name.

Her driving was even more violent than usual as she darted between the heavy traffic of the city, trying to get anywhere, or nowhere, fast. Horns blared around her as she tried to worm her way to an unknown destination. She only stopped when the tears streaming down her cheeks made her vision so blurry that she could not see the cars or road in front of her, and she pulled off to the side of the dirt track she had found herself on, surrounded by cornfields. She had no idea where she was, nor did she care.

All she cared about was whether she had made a mistake. Had she been wrong to tell Tony that she did not need him? That she did not want him? That he had no _rights_?

He certainly had rights, it was after all his child too.

Of course, she wanted him – he was Tony. She wanted to raise their child together, to grow and get old together. But that was unrealistic. He was Tony. He had no concept of commitment. He had no idea of anything about family life, or children. But then, did she? She had never exactly grown up with perfect role models, or even half-decent role models. And he, back at the house with the ex-wife, had been so good with the child, been so good at getting her to laugh, and the look he had had on his face, the look of amazement.

She would never admit that she needed anything. Not from anyone. Needing things was a sign of weakness, opposite from what she had been taught. The independent daughter her father raised did not need anyone else.

But she did.

She needed someone to hold her, to dry her eyes and tell her that everything would be okay, even if she did not believe it herself. She needed someone, _him_ , to tell her that it was okay to want someone to help her, to want to not have to go through everything alone.

Her shuddering breath was loud in the tight space of the car, mingling with the sound of her tears as she cried into her hands.

Yes, Tony had made his mistakes, but she was not perfect either. She was the one who had shouted and screamed at him, told him he was wrong for caring. Wrong for wanting a part in his child's life. She banged her head against the steering wheel, a frustrated cry emitting from her throat as a gentle tap came from the glass of the window. She looked up to see Tony, his face creased with worry, peering in. She unlocked the door and allowed him access, watching cautiously as he slipped into the passenger seat. "Don't do that to your head." He bit the inside of his cheek when she flinched away from the hand he had raised to brush against the spot she had banged down onto the steering wheel. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" She frowned slightly.

"Everything. Whatever it is that I got wrong today, whatever it is that I did to mess up our friendship, whatever it is that made you think I wouldn't be a good dad. Just, everything." His eyes pleaded with her, and he struggled to resist the urge to take her hands in his.

She shook her head. "You have nothing to apologise for. You have done nothing wrong." Her voice was quiet as she looked at her hands, folded neatly in her lap.

"Then why…?"

"Because if Gibbs were to find out we had slept together again, he would…he would not be happy. And were he to find out a child was conceived? You would lose your job, and he would kick me back to Israel in a heartbeat. I cannot go back to Israel, Tony. Not to my father, particularly not with a baby. For both of our sakes, it is best that Gibbs does not know." She paused to look over at him. "I have never, for one second, doubted your ability as a father."

"So why'd you run away? – Let's not say run away, let's say leave in a hurry."

"I realised that I was wrong."

He was silent for a moment. "About what?"

"I was wrong to think I should keep your child from you. For thinking I could do this on my own." She closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the headrest. "I am not good at…the first time I have ever had to ask for help was the other year, when Gibbs…with Eschel…it…that was hard enough…but this, this is a whole other pot of fish and I..."

He put a hand on her shoulder, ignoring her mangled idiom. "It's okay. You never had to ask."

A small, grateful smile touched her lips. "I am sorry, Tony."

He bit his lip, his brow furrowed, before it seemed he settled upon a decision. "I'll resign from NCIS."

"What?! No!" She stared at him, disbelieving. "No, Tony. No, you cannot resign from NCIS. NCIS is your life."

"This baby is my life, Ziva. I've never done anything good with my life, and now, now there is a baby, and that's good."

Ziva shook her head and snorted. "You are blind if you think you have never done anything good. You have saved so many lives, brought peace to so many families." She paused. "And you have made me more human."

"Nah, that wasn't me." He shook his head.

"Tony, three years ago the idea of raising a child would have horrified me. Now, I am coming to consider it as a future." She leaned over uncertainly, brushing her lips lightly against his cheek, a short and sweet kiss that was over before it had even begun. "Thank you."

They were silent, comfortable watching the scenery, before he looked at her. "So what now?"

"I do not know. You cannot resign, and I cannot have Gibbs fire us."

"He doesn't have the power."

"He is Gibbs. Maybe he would not fire us, but he would shoot us."

"Fair point." Tony sighed. "I understand, you know." He slipped his hand into hers. "I understand why you don't want Gibbs to know."

"This is so…"

"Messy?"

"Complicated."

"That's family for you." He shrugged, squeezing her hand slightly and smiling at her. "I just want to be present. We don't have to move in together and get married and all that, I just don't want to make the same mistakes my dad did."

"Okay. Can we just…take life as it comes for now? It might be easier."

"Sure. Whatever." He smiled.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything. Well, not anything, 'cause I don't know the answer to things like the average wind speed of Antarctica, or the capacity of my lungs, but, you know, things that I know the answer to."

"How did you know where I was, and how did you get here?" She did not even know where here was herself.

"I called McGee and asked him to trace your cell, and then asked the Petty Officer's Ex-Wife to drive me here." He chuckled slightly. "You should have seen her reaction when she came back into the living room to see you tearing out of her street, leaving me stranded. It was quite a sight." He released her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "There's no need to tell Gibbs, or anyone else, that I'm the father. Can you just stop telling people that I want nothing to do with you? Please?"

"Of course, Tony."

 **I guess that there will be another chapter, since it is already partially written up.**

 **Again, I do not like this, particularly the end. I was getting very, very tired when I was finishing it, but I could not sleep, and I was really struggling to type properly.**


	7. Somethin' Stupid

**I am tired and my head hurts. And I have a lot of work to do, none of which makes any sense.**

 **"** **What, you want me to give it a title? You want like a title? Oh, God, the pressure of a title... I got it. Cinda******'rella!"**

 **Yes, I did just quote Pretty Woman, although I changed a couple of the words. However, I do not think that Cinda******'rella will be a great chapter title. Hmm, give me a few moments to come up with a title then, I am going to shuffle through my phone to find some inspiration. At the moment I am thinking about Another Brick in the Wall, but it has nothing to do with the chapter or the story as a whole. Unless someone else can come up with a link? No? Well, I shall have to find another song then… Tell me how I did once I find the right title, because right now I have no clue as to what the chapter is going to be called. I love talking to you from the past. It really confuses me sometimes, messes with my head.**

 **Oh, I have it, I know the chapter title. The Frank Sinatra classic (sung by him and his daughter, I have always found that slightly odd, but…) covered by Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman. I actually have both versions on my phone, because I cannot decide which I like more. Do you know what it is yet?**

Somethin' Stupid

"She is a quiche, Tony." Ziva glared at him across the squad room as he flipped his phone shut after the loud conversation he had had with the girl he had spent the last night with, only the latest in a long line of women at least three years younger than herself.

"Quiche?" He frowned, trying to decipher Ziva's…unique language.

"A Bambi!" She waved her arms around, struggling to come up with the word she wanted. "Frecha!"

"Bimbo. And tart?" He suggested. "Not a clue about the last one."

"It is the Hebrew for the first two, Tony." McGee pointed out after a quick search on Google.

"Whatever!" She stood up, slamming her palms down on her desk. "She is too young for you!"

He smirked and stood so he mirrored her. "Jealous, Ziva?" He had been egging her on for over a month and a half since their discussion in the car, trying to get a reaction out of her, and this was the closest he had come.

"Why would I be jealous of you?" She snarled. So what if she was jealous of his new girlfriend?

"I was thinking more that you were jealous of her…"

"I am _not_ jealous!"

"You know, she's two years older than you." He smirked, only to get her computer mouse thrown at his head.

"DiNozzo, stop antagonising."

"Boss, I…of course, Boss, what was I thinking?"

"You weren't. Come on. We got a lead. McGee, DiNozzo, you're with me, Ziva continue running down the names on that list."

"Yes, Boss." McGee and Tony chorused, as Ziva glared at the three men, watching their retreating forms.

* * *

She paced the bullpen, checking her watch every thirty seconds. They had been gone for six hours. Gibbs had said they would be back in three. "Jethro, I…Oh, Ziva, do you know where…what's the matter?" He hurried over to her when he saw the tears streaking down her cheeks.

"They should be back by now." She sniffed. "Gibbs said they would be back. I should be with them." It did not go unnoticed by Ducky that her eyes were fixed to Tony's desk.

"You are here to keep yourself and your baby safe."

"But what could be taking them so long? They should have called by now. They should be back." He swore a hole was being worn in the carpet as she paced back and forth. The doctor sat in McGee's chair, swivelling with the movement of the young woman's pacing.

"I am sure they are fine, Ziva. They are probably just stuck in traffic, it is rush hour, you know."

"But it was not rush hour when the left!"

"Ziva, please sit down, your constant pacing is not good-"

"I do not advise you finish that statement, Ducky." She snapped, however she did stop, placing a hand on her desk, the other on her stomach, and keeping her back turned to him as her shoulders shook with tears.

He sighed and walked over to her, placing a hand on her back. "Sit down, Ziva. I shall make us a pot of tea." He smiled. "I am sure that by the time I have made the tea, they will be back at their desks and making so much noise that we will not be able to enjoy our tea in peace." She gave him a watery smile and a weak nod as he headed off to make a pot of tea.

* * *

Ziva lay her head against the cool pane of the glass window as she sat with Ducky on the windowsill, closing her eyes and listening to the sound of the tea being poured. The gentle sloshing of the hot liquid and the calming smell helped her to slow her tears down. "Where are you, Ziva?"

She opened her eyes, giving him a questioning look. "I am in the squad room, Ducky. Where are you?"

"I meant, where was your mind?" He chuckled.

"Oh." Her nod was slow as her forehead creased. How could she tell Ducky that she was sat in a pale blue nursery, holding a dark-haired boy in her arms and smiling up at Tony? She could not. So she went with the next best thing. "I was thinking about my baby."

The doctor smiled, passing a teacup over. "You are going to be a mother, Ziva. It is only natural for you to be wondering what your baby will be like, and it is good for both you and baby. It will help to start with bonding. Many mothers also read and talk to their unborn child, as well as playing music and-" He was cut off by the ringing of his mobile. He pulled it out of his pocket, frowning at the caller ID. "Jethro, nice of you to call, we've been quite concerned he…oh, my…yes, I am sat…of course…right away, Jethro…as soon as we can…of course…well, I hardly think she should be driving…no, of course not…maybe we should get a cab then…yes…very well then." He looked over to Ziva, her face full of fear.

"What is it, Ducky? What is wrong? Who is it?" Tears over-spilled again.

"Everyone is fine, it is just…" Her eyes hardened. "Tony. They are at Bethesda now. Jethro did not give details."

* * *

Her feet pounded on the laminate as she ran through the hospital. The taxi that she and Ducky had caught had gotten stuck in traffic, doubling their journey time. As she rounded the final corner into the waiting room of the ward the nurse at the front desk had directed them to, McGee simply pointed down a corridor, calling a room number to her as she barely slowed. She poked her head around the door to the hospital room, seeing Tony flicking through the channels of the TV, looking thoroughly bored. "Hey." Her breath was coming in gasps, but she showed no discomfort on her face.

"Hey! Thank God you are here, I was going stir-crazy in this room. The nurse won't let me leave," he craned his neck to peer outside of the door then lowered his voice to a whisper, "she's evil. I think she might be related to Stalin. Kinda looks like him, too."

"Tony." Ziva admonished, although unable to hide the smile as she walked over to him. Her face fell as she looked at his incapacitated leg. "I was worried about you."

"Well, you shouldn't. Just a broken leg." He grinned, but then the smile faded. "Worrying increases your blood pressure. It isn't good for the baby."

"Nor is a broken leg good for you." She pursed her lips as she surveyed the damage. He shifted himself so he could sit; his back supported by the pillows, and then reached over and brushed his fingers against her bump.

"My leg will heal. If something happens to the baby, I don't know what I would…"

"Tony, nothing is going to happen to the baby." She stopped him from going any further with his thoughts. Her eyes were fixed to his arm, focusing on neither his hand nor his eyes.

He sighed heavily, his whole hand flattening onto her stomach. "How can I be certain of that when you won't even talk to me, Ziva? How would I know if something did happen?"

"I will call you, I promise." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "I always would have." Her fingers twitched on the edge of the bed before moving to join his, fingertips skimming across the back of his hand before covering his longer digits. She quickly ran her eyes over his face, trying to ignore the blush on her own, and smiling at the small quirking of his lips.

"Hey, um, Nurse Stalin said something about needing someone to take me home and help me out and stuff, and I was just wondering, y'know, if you wouldn't mind. I mean, I would not want to assume that you're not doing anything, I just…"

"Actually, I have a date tonight." She shrugged, giving him a questioning look when he retracted his hand from her stomach. She had no idea why she said it, apart from to gauge his reaction. There was no such date.

"A date? You're dating?" His voice had grown disbelieving.

"You find it so unreasonable that a man could find me attractive?"

"No, I just…you're pregnant. You can't be dating!"

"Why? You are dating." She shrugged. "I do not see why it should be any different for me."

"The difference is, I have not been on a single date since you." He hissed, watching as she struggled for words.

"So maybe I should just not bother with the date and invite him straight in? Then we would be acting equal."

"There has not been anyone since you, Ziva. Not to date, not to sleep with, how could I when you're carrying my child? More importantly, how could _you_ when you're carrying my child?"

* * *

Gibbs watched as his agents sat with their heads close together, engaged in a hushed argument. Ziva's back was away from him, but he could see from her stance that she was not happy with Tony. To tell the truth, he was not happy with Tony either. He frowned as Tony reached out to her stomach and she slapped his hand away, giving one last sharp comment before whirling around and storming out. "Some one-night stand." She started when she heard Gibbs voice and whipped around to see him staring at her from where he lounged against the window.

"I do not know what you mean." She blushed slightly.

"I think you do, Officer David. I think you know exactly what I mean."

"Gibbs, I…"

"Can it. He's the father, isn't he?"

"No."

"You're lying."

"I am not."

"You are."

"No. No. The father is not in the image."

"Picture. And he most certainly is. Ziva, I've seen the way he looks at you, even before the baby. I've seen the way you look at him. I've seen the way he looks at your bump. He looks at you the way a man looks at his pregnant wife. Only you're not his wife."

"No, I am not. The baby is not Tony's and he does not look at me in any special way." She denied his accusations, keeping her voice low. "Now, if you will just get out of my way then I can get back to the Navy Yard and get on with my work."

She shoved past him and he sighed. "Ziva…"

"What, Gibbs? What do you want from me?" He could hear her voice tremble as she turned to face him, spreading her arms in a helpless shrug.

"Nothing, just…go home." He watched as her shoulders slumped and he could have sworn that he saw tears glisten in the corner of her eyes.

* * *

"You okay?" Abby asked as Tony stared at his blank television screen, his plaster casted leg propped on the coffee table and crutches sat by his side.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, painkillers are getting to me."

Her brow crinkled. "Really? Usually you're completely bonkers when you're on painkillers."

"I guess these ones are different." He grumbled. "Hey, Abs, you don't have to stay y'know. I can take care of myself."

"The doctors said someone has to stay with you."

"Doctors say a lot of things, doesn't mean they're right." His voice was monotone, lacking the joviality and cadence that only he could pull off.

"Yeah, well, I'm more worried about you emptying that bottle of painkillers they gave you right now. What's wrong, Tony?"

"Nothing, okay, Abs? I'm fine. Just go home."

"I don't want to leave you alone."

"He will not be alone." Ziva stood in the doorway, eyes rimmed in red as she held up her lock picks. "Go home, Abby." And with that Abby was gone, scurrying away, not wanting to get on Ziva's bad side.

"What happen? Date cancel?" Tony muttered as she came to stand in front of him.

"Shut up, DiNozzo."

"Why?"

"Because I asked you to." She growled and he laughed humourlessly.

"I see you've been practicing ready for parenthood. Really, I'm amazed you had enough time with all the men you've been sleeping with."

"There have been no men." She folded her arms across her chest and glared down at him as he stared up at her, mild disbelief masked by betrayal. Her voice was tight and quiet, and as his stare grew more intense she shifted her eyes from him, unable to hold contact any longer and searching his apartment for something, anything, to break the tension.

"Then why'd you say it?"

"Why did you?"

"I asked first?"

"You lied first, too!" She snarled at him.

Tony sighed. "I don't want to fight, Ziva."

"Me either."

"So you'll answer?"

"Not until you answer. Truthfully." In the time that they had been arguing, she had moved closer to him so her legs were sandwiched between his legs and he had sat up from his slouched position.

Knowing he was getting nowhere, fast, he shook his head and shrugged. "I did it to wind you up. To get you jealous." Ziva nodded stiffly and muttered something. "What was that?"

"I said, ditto."

"You can't just ditto me!"

"I can. I just did."

His shoulders slumped and his energy appeared to drain away. "What are we doing here, Ziva?"

"I have no idea." She murmured as he leant forwards and placed his forehead against her bump, reaching his arms around her back and pulling himself closer to her. Tears pricked her eyes when she felt him start to shake and her t-shirt grew wet with the saline droplets that he shed. Her hands found their way to tangle in his hair and her head dropped, her tears splattering onto the back of her hands and mixing into his soft, short spikes.

* * *

Neither knew how long the stood there, it could have been minutes or hours, but they were both pretty certain it was not days. As their sobs began to quieten down slightly, Ziva nudged him so he was lying on the couch and she settled in his arms, facing away from him. "Why do we do this, huh? All we ever seem to do is fight."

She sniffed and chuckled quietly as one of his hands found its way to her stomach. "It is what we do best."

He sighed and buried his nose into the hair at the back of her head. "I wish we didn't."

"We would not be us if we did not fight. We would not be such good investigators." Her eyes were focused on the wall, watching the lights of vehicles passing in the street cast reflections off of the windows of the buildings across the road and through the raindrops on the glass pane of Tony's window, creating moving shadows in her line of sight. "You know, I never thought I would say that. I never thought I would be an investigator. Even when I came to America, I never thought I would be staying long. It was always going to be a passing visit until my father decided to call me back."

"I'd never have let him."

"You would not have had a choice, Tony. Neither would I. I still do not."

"Huh? What're you talking about?"

"I do not know for how much longer I will be at NCIS." She rolled over as far as possible on the narrow surface the sofa afforded them so that she could face him. "I think Gibbs knows about the baby, Tony."

"Well, I should hope so. I mean, I know his eyesight's going and all, but I'd say it was pretty obvious."

"When I was leaving your hospital room he confronted me, told me that he knew you were the father."

"And what did you tell him?"

"That I did not know what he was talking about." She shrugged and settled her face onto his chest. "I hate keeping secrets."

Tony sniggered at the irony. "You, the superspy, hate keeping secrets? Isn't it kinda synonymous with the job-title?"

"Shut it, DiNozzo. I am not in the mood for jokes." She groaned and rolled back over so her back was to him, grabbing the pillow that was behind his head and placing it under her own. She sighed, wanting nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep. As she felt her eyelids begin to droop, Tony kicked her shin as gently as possibly with his cast.

"Hey, you might be perfectly comfortable to sleep here, but I'm not. Even at the best of times my couch is too short for me, and now my leg is held at a fix angle it is even more uncomfortable."

"Well, go to bed then." She mumbled, her voice muffled by the cushion she had stuffed her face into.

He laughed slightly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "I would, but you're gonna have to move. Else I'll have to pick you up, and even I'm not sure I can carry a pregnant you whilst trying to walk with crutches."

"Try and die, DiNozzo." She stood up unsteadily, wobbling slightly and blinking her eyes.

"You have an unhealthy obsession with empty death threats." He muttered, reaching for his crutches and pivoting on his good leg to face her.

"You thought they were empty threats? I merely have not found the perfect time and method that will inflict the greatest amount of pain, embarrassment and allow me to dispose of your body without being caught." She replied nonchalantly, a grin touching the corner of her lips.

"You're scary, David." His grumble elicited a snigger from her as he made his way towards his bedroom. "Well, are you coming, or what? The doctor said I had to be supervised."

"And they have only now figured this out?"

"Funny." He stuck his tongue out at her as he chucked a pair of sweats and a hoodie over to her.

"I try." She shrugged, walking into his bathroom and slamming the door. He continued to grumble to himself as he struggled out of his clothes, leaving him in just boxers and the cast that felt like it was weighing his leg down like a tonne of bricks. Heaven help him if Ziva decided to push him into the Anacostia, which with the mood swings he had suffered through with her earlier that day, was not a wholly unrealistic outcome. He winced when his door banged open and he could have sworn he saw a few plaster chips rain down from the ceiling. And then his sweatpants were being chucked at him. "They were too small."

"Uh-hu." He gulped, pealing the fabric from his eyes and contemplating the fact that telling her they were the largest he owned would probably result in him at the bottom of the river, breathing or not. He decided that, since his personal preference to stay dry, and breathing, was the only thing that mattered at the time, telling her would probably be counter productive. And then his brain caught up with the fact that she was stood in his jumper. And just his jumper. He let a slow, shaky breath out as his mind, and eyes, wandered down her body, catching slightly on her bump, snagging on the bottom of the material and gliding smoothly down her long, golden legs.

"Problem, DiNozzo?"

"No." He spluttered out, scratching his forehead and returning his gaze to hers, which flicked up from lingering on his chest slightly. "Must be the meds, you know what they do to me."

"You have not taken your meds."

"Well, the pain's good. Reminds me that I'm an idiot."

She sighed and shook her head, taking her folded clothes from the side of his bath tub and placing them on top of his dresser. "You are not an idiot, Tony. You might be slightly slow sometimes, you might play the fool, but you are certainly not an idiot. No matter how drunk I was, I would never have slept with you if you were an idiot."

He smiled bashfully at her as he landed heavily on the bed, pulling the covers around himself. "So, uh, what was it all the other guys did to you to convince you to get into bed with them? 'Cause I can tell you that at least three of the boyfriends I've met have been complete-"

"Tony, I really do advise you shut up now, before I shut you up myself. And I can guarantee you that my method will not be pretty or painless." She said sweetly as she slipped under the covers and scooted over to rest her head on his shoulder. "I warn you now, Tony, that if either of your hands come within ten inches of me, you will never have to hear a threat of lost fingers again, do you understand me?"

"Yeah. Wait, you want me to touch you?"

"No, you will not have any hands left if you touch me."

"Oh, and then I won't have any fingers for you to threaten. I get you now."

"Do you?"

"Yeah."

"I am not something to be gotten, Tony."

"Right. Of course. How did we get onto this?"

"Well, you practically fell and I climbed like a normal person."

"What?"

"The bed. You wanted to know how we got onto it?" The frown that was etched onto her face was also clear in her voice.

"No, that's not…forget it, it doesn't matter. G'dnight, Ziva."

"Good night, Tony. And I am sorry, for today. And yesterday. And really the whole of the past few months. I am truly sorry."

He smiled and found her hand in the dark, taking it in his own. "That's okay. I started this whole thing, anyway. It's my fault. I mean, I brought the drinks. And, I guess I've kinda been an ass. I'm sorry."

"Mhmm." Came her sleepy reply as she squeezed his hand, and he figured that was the only response he would be getting. "I thought I told you not to touch me?"

"I'm holding your hand."

"Still touching me."

"Your head is on my shoulder!" The growl that followed told him pretty clearly that letting go of her hand right now would be a good idea. And so, before she could inflict any pain, he unwound his fingers, but not without pressing a kiss to the back first. "Goodnight, Ziva."

 **I think this is my insomnia fiction. It is the one that I tend to make a beeline for when my insomnia is bad. Which probably explains why I am always deleting so much of it and it therefore takes so long to write.**

 **This chapter has bled me dry of ideas. Literally. I do not think I have an idea left in my body. At least not for this story. I mean, I have not tagged it as complete on here or on my spreadsheet of stories because it does not feel complete, but I do not know what to do with it now. It feels too happily ever after where I have left it now, and you all know how much I hate those. Happily ever afters never actually happen.**

 **I shall probably just leave it and see what happens. This is probably another of those ones where in forty years time you will get a little email saying Dead Reckoning has a new chapter. I have no idea why in forty years I will suddenly have all of these ideas, or what will give me the inspiration in forty years time. I do not know if I will even still be alive in forty years time, but I always say that it will be in forty years that my dead fictions will be revived with another chapter.**

 **I wonder how many hours I have been awake for now…**

 **And why does Microsoft say that spreadsheet is not a word, but that spread sheet and spread-sheet are grammatically incorrect? How else can it be written?**


	8. Amity

**So, you remember I said I did not think I would be writing any more of this? Well, I have to confess that I have had the first bit, (only the first two lines or so) written up when I posted the last chapter, so I always knew that there would be at least the possibility of another chapter. But I had no motivation to finish it, I did not have the inspiration and I just felt a little disheartened with everything that I wrote because I did not like it.**

 **And then the other day (when I could not sleep – I told you, I can only write this when my insomnia is bad) the ideas just…exploded. I jotted down a couple of notes in the document, laying out what I wanted to happen, and started typing.**

 **So, I have taken the Complete mark off of it, because I do not think it is complete, and I do want to finish it because I have an idea that was sparked by the ideas that I have here. I am thinking maybe two more chapters? 10 chapters in total is nice – considering this was supposed to just have three or four chapters.**

 **And I really just want to thank everyone who has reviewed, and who will review, because I do not think I thank you enough, and I would still write if you did not review, but the comments really do help to keep me going, to keep nudging me along with it. And I want to thank everyone who has read this (and anything else I have written), even if you have not reviewed, or favourited or followed this or me. Because I do not think I do that enough, either. So thank you. I give an imaginary cupcake to each and every one of you for getting this far with this (and with me and my temper tantrums at times, because we all know I have those, no matter how warranted they are).**

 **There is quite a lot of speculation in this, and there might be some things that we know for certain but that I have forgotten. If you tell me I might be bothered to fix it, but there is a 99% chance that I will not be bothered, particularly if it is going to alter anything else that I have written.**

 **…**

Amity

It was not a sight anyone was accustomed to – a federal agent with a broken leg holding his pregnant co-worker as she sobbed into his t-shirt. Of course, since they were two of the most renowned agents in the building when it came to tempers, nobody dare question it. Well, nobody except Gibbs. He paused as he walked past Tony's desk, raising eyebrows at the scene. "She okay?"

"Does she look okay?" Tony's sarcasm was on top form and he immediately regretted it at Gibbs' glare. "Sorry. She's fine. Just, uh, hormonal. Sorry, shouldn't have said…my leg hurts."

"You're not taking the painkillers?" Gibbs gave him a worried glance.

"I don't, uh, you know what they do to me, Boss, and I don't want to say the wrong thing at the moment." He shrugged. "It is not that bad, just standing for long periods, y'know." The older man nodded, about to say something, perhaps to remind them to get back to work, or to challenge Ziva about the parentage of her baby, but closed his mouth and, after casting one last look across the pair of agents, walked towards the stairs up to the catwalk.

The next person to disturb them was an unknown. And he mispronounced Ziva's name. That in itself was enough to take her away from clutching Tony's shirt. He stuttered as he proffered the package he gripped and a clipboard. "I need you to sign here."

"What is it?"

"I, uh, I don't know. I haven't looked. We're not allowed to, you see." The courier managed as Ziva studied the box, not touching it, not removing it from his grasp. Black writing in the corner of the box made her face light up, grinning as she took her parcel and quickly scrawled her signature where she was told to.

"What is it?" Tony repeated her question from moments ago, stepping over to where she had set the package on her desk. He examined the characters he did not understand, frowning slightly, when she slipped her knife out of her pocket and slit the tape across the top open. She lifted one flap to peek before dropping it back down and smiling up at him, her tears drying on her cheeks.

"Come around tonight and I will show you." Her words were soft, matching the now calm curve of her mouth.

"I, uh…"

"You will like it, Tony. I promise." She touched the back of his hand with her fingertips as she saw the hesitation on his face.

"It's not gonna get us into trouble, is it?"

"No. No, it will not get us into trouble at all."

* * *

"Ziva, slow down." Tony pleaded, struggling with getting his crutches to work with the stairs. "Why can't you live in an apartment with an elevator.

"Because I do not need the elevator." She shrugged, pausing for him to catch up.

"You know, you're going to when the baby comes." He looked up at her when he felt her confused eyes on his face. "Ziva, you live on the top floor. You are going to have a baby to look after and you don't have anyone to help you with the day to day stuff, like shopping, and getting mail and deliveries and stuff." There was an almost bitterness under his concerned tone when he mentioned that there would be nobody there for her. "How do you expect to be able to carry your groceries up four flights of stairs whilst juggling a newborn, Ziva? And then, when the baby starts to get bigger, you are not going to want to continually be carrying them up and down all these stairs. It won't be good for your back."

Her brave mask fractured for a split second as her eyes faltered and she swallowed thickly before she rotated on her heel, turned her back to him. "I will be fine, Tony. And if I need help I will ask."

"No, you won't." He shook his head, sighing, as he started to make his way back up to her, taking each step slowly. "You never ask for help."

"I do."

"When?" She grit her teeth as she thought, realising that she had no answer. His hand brushed lightly against her forearm when he reached her. "Come on, I want to see what this parcel is."

* * *

As soon as they were inside Tony was using his crutches to pull off his one shoe, doing a hopping, jig-like dance as he hobbled around on one leg. He tumbled himself over to the sofa and collapsed down, kicking his cast up onto the coffee table. "Make yourself at home." His partner sighed as she watched him, trying not to smile at the sight of him. "Would you like a drink?"

"Ah, beer." There was a tense silence when he squeezed his eyes shut. "Or, y'know, orange juice is good."

"I might have some old beer, from before."

"No, no, I like orange juice." He looked over his shoulder at her as she placed the box down on the table next to his foot, slapping his hand away when he reached for it. He watched when she stood up from where she had bent over to place the package down and winced slightly – almost unperceivable, but she definitely winced, moving her hand down to rub her lower back as discreetly as possible. Maybe his comment of her needing an apartment with an elevator was already too late. "I'll get the drinks. You sit down."

"I am fine, Tony."

"Like hell you are. Sit down, or we do not have drinks at all." She sighed, relenting, as she nodded to the kitchen. He swung his leg back to the floor and reached for his crutches, forcing himself up. She watched him go before settling herself on the floor opposite the sofa, folding her legs and placing a hand on her bump. Tony walked back through with two glasses of orange juice in one hand and both crutches in the other, setting the juice on the table. "You know, you can sit on the couch. I do not take up all of it."

"You do when you are sprawled out like you end up doing. Besides, it is more comfortable down here."

He looked at her sceptically but shrugged. "Mind if I join you?"

"It is up to you." She had expected him to sit on the rug next to her, not dropping down behind her with a grunt, pushing his cast to one side of her and having his other leg so it was concentric to her folded one, following the line of her leg without touching her. Even without any contact, the heat that radiated off of his body encircled her, wrapping her in a blanket of thermal air, and the temptation to lean back just an inch, press her back into his torso and lean her head back on his shoulder, was overwhelming, almost too much to ignore. But instead, she leant forwards, reaching for the parcel and sitting it on her lap. It was square, about a foot and a half in length, and about six inches deep. Ziva ran her fingers over the Hebrew in the top corner, a smile touching her lips, before pulling the flaps open to reveal a large, square, leather-bound book. It was not as big as the box, but it was close. Two small, gift-wrapped packages were wedged between the edge of the book and the side of the box. She lifted the book up, revealing a second book of the same make below it, as well as more presents.

"What are they?"

"Photo albums and baby stuff. Babygrows and booties and things." Her voice was choked, thick with the threat of tears. She sniffed as she checked the first page before moving the box off of her lap and replacing it with the first album. Each album was about two and a half inches thick. "Nettie said she would send them when I told her about the baby. I told her not to, but she said it was better for me to have them than for them to go musty and dusty sitting in the closet of her apartment. That was two months ago, the day I found out. I thought she had forgotten."

"She can't come and visit?"

Ziva shook her head. "She does not travel well, and she does not want me to visit until I have had the baby. She is superstitious and has all sorts of odd ideas about the modern world, particularly aeroplanes. But she wants photos." She opened the book up to the first page, revealing a letter written in Hebrew. "It is a love letter from my father to my mother before they were married. It was before he was important within Mossad. He was just an officer, and she was the most important thing to him. His eyes would never wander. They were young. He had finished his mandatory term of IDF service, and she was just beginning hers. They met whilst she was on her training – he was one of her instructors." She traced the lettering, her father's sharp, precise cursive.

"I just see shapes."

She chuckled. "That is how I felt when I saw English for the first time. I could not understand it. You read and write the wrong way. At least we do not join our letters up. Try Arabic – there are 28 letters and they all join up." She shrugged. "Hebrew only has 22 letters."

"Hmm. I think I'll stick to English." He wondered if she would notice if he shuffled closer, and, not feeling like he had _that_ much to lose, he tried it, inching closer and settling so his nose was tickled by her wild curls. He felt her tense for a moment before she leant back, tilting her head slightly and closing her eyes. He watched her swallow as her uneven breathing slowed to a slightly more normal rate, and then her eyes were open and she was turning the page in the album. The first three pictures were old, in sepia. They featured a man and woman, each in a uniform, each with proud smiles on their faces. There was a photo of each alone before one of them together. "My mother, and my father." She pointed to each of them. "This was ten years before I was born." She pointed to the one of her parents together. They stood side by side, grinning at one another, her father's fingertips brushing against her mother's wrist. She flipped the page over again, revealing a wedding photo, followed by many more.

"They looked happy."

"I think they were when they were both innocent. All my mother had ever wanted was children, and it took eight years after they married for them to have me." She lingered on the page with her parent's wedding photo, touching her mother's cheek with the most delicate of fingertips, until it became too much and she flipped to the next page. "Of course, as soon as he began to climb the hierarchy in Mossad, my father started to lose interest. He had affairs. He had a son with another woman before I was born. Ari stayed with us for half the year. My mother did not like him, but I would not have blamed her if I understood. But I did not understand, and I did blame her."

Tony tried to ignore the fact that she was talking about the man who had killed his partner. "Was he…when you were younger, what was he like? Ari?"

"Not like he was when you met him. He was a person when we were little. He had a heart, and he had love." A tear spilt and rolled down her cheek onto the page. She quickly swiped at her eyes and sniffed, pointing to the next photo. "My mother and Nettie. Nettie was her older sister, and she never liked my father. That was another thing I never understood. When I was little I idolised him. I wanted to be just like him; wanted to be important and brave and clever."

Tony opened his mouth and closed it again, debating over whether he should speak. "You are, y'know. You are so brave, and so, so clever. And you're more important than anything else in the world." She turned her head to him, giving him a questioning frown, and just as she was about to challenge him he caught her lips with his own. The kiss could not have lasted longer than two seconds and was so soft that it could not have been there at all had she not opened her eyes to see him retreating far enough to put his chin on her shoulder and look at the pictures in front of her, an innocent expression on his face.

Her lips curved up slightly and she could have sworn that the corner of his eyes twitched, the precursor to one of his brightest grins, as she turned to guide her eyes back to the page in front of her. She flicked through pages, pointing out relatives of interest, holiday photos and the such like, and there was a mesmerising quality to the experience as the images transitioned from monochrome to colour as the availability and affordability of coloured film allowed it to be utilised more, the images becoming increasingly more saturated as time passed and technology improved. And as the years flew by in the space of hours, Tony grew bolder with his displays of affection, nuzzling his face against hers, pressing his lips to her cheek, her jawbone, allowing his hand to graze against her bump until his palm settled flat on the side of her rounded stomach as it started to curve down, just above where her legs folded underneath her. And she would, in return, lean into him, angle her head occasionally so that the kisses aimed at her jaw would hit the corner of her mouth, wind her arm back so that her fingertips played with the hairs at the nape of his neck – also aiding in securing him to her. That was what her hand was doing when they reached the photo that Tony had to look twice at.

She was pregnant, one hand on her bump as her other held back wild, curly dark hair that was haloing her face, a soft smile not quite conveying the joy that her sparkling eyes did. She was almost identical to Ziva, and Tony had to check that it was not his partner that he was staring at on the page. But the date scribbled below was enough to convince him that the smiling face was the same one he had been looking at photos of the whole way through the book. The face that could have been Ziva's sister. The face that looked happier in that one image than in any other of the images before hand. "You look like her. The spitting image."

"You think?"

"I had to check it wasn't you. Your eyes are the same, and you have the same hair."

"When I was little I wanted to look like her. Men loved her, would always flirt with her. They were all Aba's colleagues, _friends_ , but if ever he was not there they would take it as their opportunity." There was a bitterness to her voice and Tony touched a tender kiss to her shoulder, just above her collarbone.

"Did she…was she ever…?"

"Unfaithful? I do not know. When I got older I had my suspicions, but they were never proven. My father was never home, had several women who were more than willing to keep him company, and she would have these frightful mood swings. There would be days in which she would be so happy, so alive, and we would act almost like a family, and there were days when she would not even speak. She would not eat, not even look at us. They were the days after Aba's parties when I suspected that she might have been with one of his so-called friends." Tears were pricking painfully at the back of her eyes again and she turned her neck so she could press her face into the side of his as she forced them to pass, her fingers stilling their ministrations as they played with his hair to merely grip the back of his neck, holding him still as she tried to prevent herself from crying. It was all he could do to not cry with her, shutting his eyes and lightly extending and curling his fingers so they brushed a slow, starburst pattern on her stomach. He moved his other hand to her knee, rubbing circles on it, and decided that he would stay there, motionless, forever if she needed him to. It was not ten seconds after he had made up his mind that there was a quick, sudden pressure to his palm where it sat on her stomach and he jumped, retracting his hand and staring at it.

"What? I…?"

Ziva gave a watery chuckle as she pulled away from where her face was hiding, her eyes sparkling with humour and unshed tears. "He has been quickening for a couple of weeks now. That is the first time he has properly kicked, though."

"He? A little boy?"

She shrugged. "It is just a feeling." She could feel his grin as he buried his face into her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"You're amazing." His words were muffled, but she could hear him fine.

"What is it that you say, Tony? It takes two to tango? You did half of the work."

"No." He shook his head. "No, I did no work. You're doing all the work, and I'm doing nothing."

"I am stopping you from doing anything." Her voice fell as her mood plummeted and she sighed as she tilted her neck to the side, dislodging Tony.

"Well, it is okay to ask for help, you know?"

Her voice picked up her strong tone again, pulling up her mask of bravery. "I do not need help."

He sighed and looked away, disappointed that their progress seemed to have reached a halt. "No. Of course you don't." The both took a moment to recompose themselves before they went back to the photographs. The page was turned again and Tony gasped, his hand reaching forwards to touch the glossy paper. "That's you. That's a baby you." And it was. A tiny, newborn Ziva, wrinkly hands and crinkled nose, an expression almost identical to one that he knew so well, the although-she-said-it-in-a-joking-tone-she-really-meant-it-when-she-said-that-he-smells expression. He was awestruck, rendered speechless by the photo of her, only hours old and still wrapped in a pink blanket. "I never thought I would see the day when Ziva David wore pink."

"It was only a one-time thing." She lapsed back into their comfortable flirting, not caring that it was a defence mechanism as she wondered what their baby would look like. _Their_ baby. It was the first time she had ever consciously thought of him as their baby, he had always been her baby, and she looked over her shoulder to watch Tony's face as he absorbed the image.

"Our baby is going to be so beautiful."

She smiled at his use of the word _our_ , wondering if he had been thinking the same thing as her. His lips were parted slightly and smiling, his eyes full of wonder, and she considered leaning up and kissing his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his lips. Reaching up without asking seemed discourteous, and they had already proven that night that it would lead to a lack of speaking about what they actually felt as they each acclimatised themselves to the ebb and flow of each other's touch. So she reached up instead with her hand, running her thumb over his lips with pressure no more than can be applied with a feather as she considered her next course of action. "May I give you a thimble, Tony?" It was her best bet, quoting films at him. He responded to film quotes.

Confusion flashed across his face as he studied her before recognition replaced it, and she took it as a good sign, good enough to allow for her to lean forwards and place a kiss in the corner of his mouth. She repeated the action before shifting the photo album to the floor and kneeling, turning so she faced him fully. She ran her fingers through his floppy hair, pushing it back away from his face as she watched his expression closely. Not to be outdone, he kissed her lips fully whilst both hands travelled to sit on either side of her stomach. He pulled back rather quickly, provoking a sudden outburst of protest from her. "Are you sure this is what you want? Because as soon as we break that dam down there is going to be no stopping any of the emotions and stuff that pour out. I know what I want, but this has to be about you, Ziva. It's always been about you."

What was he talking about? Of course it was what she wanted. She stared at him, trying to figure out why he would ask such a thing until it dawned upon her. "You do not want this." She leant back, her eyes sliding shut and her teeth digging into her bottom lip, drawing a pinprick of blood. "Go home, Tony."

"Ziva, I…"

"I will call you a cab. Just, go home." She stood up, turning away from him so he could not see the tears that had started to roll down her cheeks.

"Ziva, I…"

"I will see you tomorrow, Tony."

"Wait. Stop!" She was too fast for him as she left the living room, walking towards the back of the apartment. "Ziva?" He grunted as she ignored him, hurrying as fast as possible on only one leg to follow her. "Ziva." He had just been making certain, so he would not end up hurting her. Her mood swings were starting to give him a headache. He paid no heed to the shut bathroom door as he barged through, just in time to see her shimmy out of her cargo pants and pull her sweater over her head. If he had not been so desperate to talk to her, to explain himself, he would have lost all ability to speak at the expanse of golden skin presented to him. But he did need to talk to her, he did need to tell her that she misunderstood him, and he was not distracted by her bare skin. "Ziva, I wouldn't…why would I…that's not…"

"What are you trying to say, Tony?" Her accent was exaggerated with her emotion, the thick, almost husky tone reminding him of when she first arrived in America and his chest clenched as he saw the extent to which he was hurting her.

"Of course I want this. Of course I do. There is not a single other woman in the universe I could ever want this with. Of course there isn't."

"Then why…?"

"Because I didn't want to drag you into something you didn't want – because I couldn't face you leaving me if this doesn't work out, and I know it will be you leaving me, Ziva, because you deserve someone so much better than me, and I could never leave you. I didn't want to make you unhappy." The sound of running water muffled her sobs as the bath filled up, but the tell-tale shake of her shoulders triggered him to reach out, brush his fingertips along her skin. "Ziva, don't…don't cry. I never meant to make you cry."

If anything she cried harder as she turned into him, pressing her face into his neck. "Why do you have to be so good, Tony? Why do you have to say nice things?"

"Well, I try not to, they just pop out." It was a poor attempt at humour, and it did not come across as funny in any sense, but she gave a blubbery chuckle. "Y'know, this is twice you've cried into this shirt today. If that's what happens when I wear it, I'm gonna have to wear a different one."

"Uh-uh. I like this shirt. It looks good on you."

"I'll keep that in mind." He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head before casting his eyes across to the water level of the bath. "Hey, the taps need turning off."

"No." She shook her head, moulding herself tighter to his body.

"Yes. You'll flood the apartment if they're left any longer, and we both know that neither of us could afford to pay for the damages." She gave a mumble to the affirmative and grudgingly moved away from him, twisting the taps off and watching as it the last few droplets of water dripped into the water. He was suddenly painfully away that she was stood just three feet from him, naked and carrying his child. "I, um, I guess…well, I guess, I…I mean, what I…I think I should…go."

"Stay."

It was an order, and he was not going to disobey. "Okay. I'll just, go sit in the…maybe I could order some food, or…"

She reached over and gripped his hand. "Stay." She entwined her fingers with his, looking up into his eyes, before rolling up onto tiptoes to touch her lips to his. Her other hand slid up the front of his shirt to pop the buttons through the holes. "It is just a bath, Tony."

"I can't remember the last time I had a bath." It was her way of asking for help, and he had no way of refusing, not that he would ever want to anyway.

She raised her eyebrows, sniffing his armpit. "I can tell."

"Ha, ha. I do shower, you know. I just don't bathe. It's not the most masculine form of washing."

"But it is very relaxing." She shrugged, continuing to undress him.

"Ziva…" It was almost a warning, although what he was warning her against, he was not entirely certain.

"Please?"

* * *

"Have you thought of names?" Tony asked as he ran his hand up and down her side and occasionally over her stomach, the gentle sound of the water lapping off the side of the porcelain tub echoing off the tiles of the room.

"Hmm? Not yet." She shook her head, her eyes closed. "I wanted your input."

"You did, huh?"

"Mhmm."

"Sleepy?"

"I am not naming my child after a dwarf in a fairy story."

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. "I agree with that – seven names we've already vetoed. I meant, are you sleepy?"

"Ah. Mhmm." She sighed and leant her head back against him. She held his hand still on top of her bump, opening her eyes and looking down at the surface of the water. "Stay still a moment."

"What?"

"Just do it, Tony. Try not to move."

"Uh, okay?" He frowned, pressing his cheek against her own as he followed her line of sight to what whatever she was waiting for. And then the water rippled, a little kick and the water rippled. "Hey, look at that. Little baby kicked again." He grinned. "It feels surreal, our little baby, half you, half me, just growing in there."

"It does not feel so strange anymore. It was at first, but you get used to it. I quite like having him there now."

"Yeah. I can see that." He said softly, smiling. She looked up at him, brow furrowed slightly. "You're happy. I've never seen you this happy before." He rubbed a thumb across her cheekbone, applying the smallest amount of pressure, before pressing his lips to the top, just next to her eye. "Even with all the hormones and the crying, you're the happiest I've ever seen you."

"Well, I guess that is because I have everything I want." She shrugged, running a hand through the water and watching the patterns it made.

"Yeah, like what?"

"Hmm…well…I have…a good job…with good friends…and I have a good apartment…"

"Moderate at best…you are on the top floor with no elevator. It is not practical."

She concealed a smile by sinking down in the water until her nose was submerged until she could maintain her composure. "…an _adequate_ apartment…I have…a baby on the way…and, uh, I think that's it…" She bit her lip as she waited for him to protest. It did not take long.

"Oh. Hu. And, uh, there's nothing more?"

"Let me think…nope, nothing is coming to mind." She shook her head, looking over her shoulder innocently at him. "Can you think of anything I have forgotten?"

"I think there's someone pretty important that you're missing." He caught onto the joke. Ziva David's innocent face was less innocent than any face he could make, and everyone knew he was far from innocent.

"Really? Oh, Aunt Nettie. Of course, how could I forget."

"You're still not there." There were only a finite number of things she could put on her list of things that made her happy before she had to get to him.

"Oh, I know! The guys at the firing range. They always let me in after hours." She smirked and he grumbled. "And, I guess there is one more person."

"Yeah?" She could hear the hope in his voice and did not have the heart to break it one more time.

"Yeah. You."

"I make you happy?"

"You are why I am this happy."

 **…**

 **I really, really want someone to exchange the 'Thimble' Wikipedia page with that of the 'Kiss' Wikipedia page and vice versa. Perhaps for April Fools Day, if anyone can be bothered.**

 **My mum always said that her favourite thing to do whilst pregnant was to lie in the bathtub as still as possible so the water was flat, and then when the baby (me) kicked the water would ripple. She said she could lie there for hours watching.**


	9. Speculation, Raindrops and a Nursery

**I am still only writing this when I cannot sleep.**

 **You know, they started and ended season 3 with torrential rain. It was raining in Kill Ari and it was raining in Hiatus. There is a nice circularity with that.**

 **I really hate the title for this chapter, so if anyone has any better suggestions, just send them over and I will think about changing it.**

 **…**

Speculation, Raindrops and a Nursery

She had been sat on his desk, staring at their friends, for over an hour. They had been completely oblivious as they murmured quietly between themselves. "You okay, Abs?"

"We've been blind, McGee. Completely blind."

He sighed, not liking it when she told him he had missed something. "What're you talking about?"

"Look at them." He obeyed, following her line of sight. Tony sat on the corner of Ziva's desk as she sat in her chair, each of them smiling occasionally.

"They're friends, Abs." McGee shrugged. "We sit and talk like that."

"Yeah, but I'm not carrying a mystery guy's baby. Or any baby, actually." She raised her eyebrows as he looked back at them. "Why do you think she's been so secretive about who the father is? You know Gibbs' rules. If he finds out it's Tony, he'll be so mad."

"It's not Tony. We would know if it were Tony." McGee shook his head. It could not be Tony – there were just friends. Although, it did explain some things, like why he had not been surprised when Abby had told everyone, and why he had been so overly protective of Ziva even before the pregnancy was announced. And why she had run to the hospital as soon as Tony broke his leg.

"Would we?"

"Yes, Abby. Of course, we would. It's our jobs to know things like that."

"And it's Ziva's job to keep secrets. Or it was. And Tony, well, he's always been good with secrets." She scrunched her face up and looked across to the couple they were discussing. She counted on her fingers, six months back. "They weren't talking to each other for a while after your book was published, were they."

"And?"

"McGee, your book was published six months ago. Ziva's six months pregnant. Do the maths."

"Then why would Ziva say that it was a one-night stand?" He was trying to ignore how glaringly obvious it was now that she had brought it up.

"Because it probably was. Just the guy wasn't as anonymous as she would like us to believe."

"Abby, you're being ridiculous."

"Gibbs has noticed it."

"What?" McGee tore his eyes away from Tony and Ziva to stare at Abby incredulously.

"He's not as blind as you all assume, McGee." She nodded to the catwalk where Gibbs stood with the perpetual glare he had been maintaining since Tony had broken his leg.

* * *

The pitter-patter of rain on the window provided the percussion for the quiet strumming of the guitar as they lay on the bed, his head by her stomach. It had been raining non-stop for a day and other than the odd bathroom trip or a quick journey to the kitchen to grab some food, they had both been content to spend the whole day just laying in bed, talking and staying silent. "I want it to be raining when I have the baby."

Tony's hand stilled on the guitar and he lifted his head to look at her. "I'm not an expert on these sort of things, but I'm pretty certain you have no control over that."

"I know, but I like the rain. It is hopeful. It brings life."

He smiled softly, letting his head fall back to the mattress. "I love the way your mind works. It's so…romantic, in a non-romantic way."

"That makes no sense."

"I know…" He did not think that saying he loved how naïve her mind could be in some respects would go down too well. But she was, in her own little way – there was a childlikeness to her logic at times and her inquisitiveness held the same curiosity as that of a toddler, or maybe a puppy. And yet, despite all that, she was still mature enough to competently kill him with any of the items in the room – or her bare hands.

"Tony?"

He lifted his head again, propping himself up on his elbow. "Hmm?"

"How is this going to work?"

He closed his eyes before opening them back up to stare at her, placing the guitar on the bed beside him and sitting properly. "Honestly? I don't know." He took her hand in his, looking down at it as he played with her fingers. "I think it really all depends on how you want it to work. You run this ship."

"I do not want to force you into a situation that you do not want."

"Well, I don't really want to be forced into a situation that I don't want." He smiled. "But I don't think what I want really matters. Tell me how you want this to work, and I will tell you how I feel about it."

She too sat up, shifting so she was leaning against the pillows. "I do not know."

"Okay then. We go through everything systematically." He reached over to grab his OSU t-shirt that she had grown used to sleeping in, seeing as she had shrugged on the white shirt he had been wearing the day before, allowing it to hang open and affording him a clear view of her golden skin and swollen stomach. "Do we live together or apart?"

The was a pause as she chewed on her bottom lip, narrowing her eyes as she analysed the options. "Together."

"Okay," he looked back down at her hand in his, "what about marriage?"

"I…" She looked away, staring out of the window at the raindrops on the glass. "I do not want to get married just because I am pregnant. I want to get married when, if, it is the right time, when we are both ready. I just…I do not know that we are yet."

He closed his eyes and gulped, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, no, you're right." It was not exactly the answer he had hoped for, but he was relieved that it was not a downright no. There was still a sliver of hope. Maybe not just yet, but there was hope for the velvet box that sat on the top of his piano. "Whose apartment? Mine, yours or a new one?"

"Mine. I mean, I already have the baby's room decorated." She shrugged and he nodded.

"Yeah, I agree, you have more room than me and I don't think…wait, you've got the baby's room done?"

She hummed in affirmation as she nodded, a blush creeping onto her face. "Do you want to see?"

"Well, yeah, 'course I do." He laughed, his heart fluttering slightly with a curious mix of nerves. Her coy smile and fingertips brushing the back of his hand made his chest tighten and if he were not 100% certain that it was all down to love, he would have feared for his health. But then, he had always said that Ziva David would be the death of him. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, carefully standing up and looking at him as she waited for him to follow. He was powerless and completely unable to protest as she stood there, soft light from the bedside lamp highlighting the glint in her eye and hand on her stomach whilst her other hand fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

She walked through to what was once the spare room, stopping at the closed door and turning to him. He stepped forwards and put a hand on the handle, halting only when her fingertips touched his arm. "Wait." She stepped behind him, covering his eyes as she stood up on tiptoes, her bump pressed to his back. "It should be a surprise."

"Why not? The rest of this has been." He chuckled. There was a click of a door and she nudged him inside, unfolding her hand from his eyes. The walls were soft, custard yellow and a rubber duck motif was carried throughout the room, painted on the wood of the crib and on the side of the dresser, as well as having a rubber duck sat atop a small bookshelf and ducks lining the windowsill. The material of the curtains and the cushion on the rocking chair was white with little yellow ducks, and the same fabric had been used to make the bedding for the crib. "You did all of this?"

"I had some help." She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Ducky and Palmer came over and helped with the painting, and Jen's housekeeper, Noemi, she made the curtains and the bedding and the cushion." Ziva pointed to each of the furnishings as she named who helped.

"What about this?" Tony asked, tapping the mobile above the crib and watching as the little rubber ducks moved in a circle. It was older than the rest of the room, sun bleached and faded in patches, and the yellow fabric was wearing thin in places, the stitches loosening in others.

"It was mine when I was a baby. My father brought it back from Europe when he was there on a trip. London, I think." She walked over to the rocking chair and sat down, toying with the duck-covered curtain. "He was good at one point, I think. Maybe he still is, I do not know."

"He's like Darth Vader." She looked up at him blankly. "Star Wars. Doesn't matter. Have you spoken to him recently?"

She shook her head, focusing on her hands. "He called a few months ago and gave the impression that he was disappointed in me."

"Yeah?"

"Well, it was quite a one-sided conversation, and I did not listen to half of it, but I think I got the gist."

Tony sighed, running his fingers along the wood of the crib. "It's my fault."

"What?"

"The pregnancy, your father being disappointed, Gibbs being, well, Gibbs. Everything. If I had not suggested going out for a drink that night, none of this would have happened and everything would be back to the way it was."

"Is that what you think I would prefer? Tony, my father would be disappointed in me whatever happened. And yes, we probably could have been slightly more sensible, more careful, but I do not regret it for one moment."

"And Gibbs?"

"Gibbs will be Gibbs no matter what." She shrugged, looking up at him. "He would be angry at you for something else if he was not angry at you for this."

"He wouldn't be angry at you."

"Well yes, that is where my argument falls down. Look, my point is, Tony, that none of this is your fault, and there is certainly nothing here to take blame for anyway." She stood up, pressing her palm to his cheek. "Maybe we were stupid. Maybe we were irresponsible. Maybe we should not have gotten drunk and slept together. But then we would not have our little baby, would we?"

He studied her face, turning his head to kiss her palm. "How is it all so clear to you? How are you so positive about all of this?"

"Because I think I would probably have a breakdown if I did not look at it this way." She smiled with only the smallest hint of humour. "Now, can we go back to bed, please? I am tired."

He nodded, touching his lips to her palm again before taking her hand in his and walking back through to her bedroom, allowing her to curl up in his arms as she settled her head on his chest. "You're amazing, Ziva. You know that?" She stayed silent as he played with her hair and watched the raindrops on the window. "I love you." Her responding snore was enough to make him chuckle, dropping a kiss to the top of her head and settling down, pulling the sheets around their legs and closing his eyes.

…

 **I have not had enough sleep to be functioning properly, which is why this is ended so badly. Now, I am not promising anything, because we all know how bad I am with promises, but there should be one more chapter. But, considering this was only supposed to be a maximum of four chapters, and considering I started writing this over a year ago (can you believe that this was first published on the 25** **th** **May last year?) I do not think we can expect my prediction of there being one more chapter to be accurate. There might be more, there might be less.**


	10. Defying Expectations

**This is quite a long chapter, just because it is tying everything off and wrapping everything up. I hope.**

 **It has taken me over a year to write ten chapters. That seems crazy. I wanted to get this done by the end of June, but I kept adding more and more to it.**

 **I have quite enjoyed this one. It has given me something to write when I cannot sleep.**

 **I like this chapter possibly best of all, but I do not know why. Also, I thought it was really happy, but then I noticed how many arguments there are in it. I cut out a couple, but there are still quite a few.**

 **Oh, I changed, like, one fact, I think, but I am using my artistic licence card.**

Defying Expectations

Despite always being the strongest, always being the best, there was no mistaking that Ziva David was weak. She had been raised to be a stone-cold killer, head of the Kidon unit, the tip of the spear. Her childhood had been spent dismantling Uzis and finding her way out of forests. It had been drilled into her that trust was for the naïve and love the spineless. It had been expected that she would follow her father's footsteps, continue in the family business whilst her sister would be the one to give their parents grandchildren.

When her mother had given her father only girls and his illegitimate son refused to take his name, it was inevitable that the family name of David would die. And when a child blew up a café in Tel Aviv, it became clear that Eli David would not be having legitimate grandchildren, for his only surviving daughter was devoted to her country and her work, and thus had such a short life expectancy that she would not have the time to bring a child into the world, and if she did find the time, she would not have the stupidity to do so. When the orders were given for the termination of a rogue agent, the possibility of any grandchildren, legitimate or otherwise, fell out of the picture, along with the continuation of the bloodline.

So when the news of his eldest - and only surviving - daughter's pregnancy reached him, to say he was conflicted would have been an understatement. His daughter was a soldier. A warrior. Prepared for battle at all times. But most importantly she was an asset. She was highly trained in combat and diplomacy, though the latter could have done with some polishing.

However, contrary to popular belief, there was a heart buried deep within Eli David's chest, and that heart yearned for a second chance, a chance to repent; to spoil a grandchild with clothes and love. A chance to hear laughter echoing off the floors of his house once more, to see children running through the olive grove in Be'er Sheva again. A chance to see a child go to college and study film or literature; mathematics or architecture; a harmless subject that would not put them at risk in the cruel world they lived in. He wanted a chance to see a child live; flourish.

It did not aid him in his decisions to know that this grandchild was to be born out of wedlock, to a man whose reputation for taking women to bed far outstretched some of the most experienced of playboys, and who was hardly discreet about it. He studied the photos on his desk, the select ones of his daughter and her interactions with one Anthony D. DiNozzo. Junior. They were ranging from when she first left Israel permanently to mere days ago. Them working together, her stood on his doorstep, their hands entwined as they walked along a street. If he were to lay all the photos out in a timeline, there would be a sudden jolt of activity after about a year of her being there, followed by a lull. Activity would then pick up again from around three months back.

He looked at the most recent photo, one depicting his daughter laughing as she sat on a park bench with DiNozzo, his hand on her swollen stomach. She had sent an email promising that there was nothing between them as soon as her colleague's book had been published in Israel, promising that it was purely fictional and there was no such child on the way. He was not certain that he had believed her at the time, and he was positive that he did not believe her now.

His fingers itched as they sat on his phone, hovering slightly before punching in his daughter's phone number. It took a while for her to answer, but when she did she gave a hesitant _"Shalom?"_

"Ziva."

 _"Aba?"_

"How are you?"

 _"I…"_ there was a pause and he was unsure of what she was thinking, _"I am well. And yourself?"_

"I am getting old." They lapsed into a silence muffled by the static of overseas calls. "What time is it over there?"

 _"Um, about midday."_

"And you are home? Are you ill?"

She was quiet again. _"I am on maternity leave at the moment."_

"Ah, of course. I forgot," he looked down. "When are you due?"

 _"Any time from now,"_ there was a small, nervous chuckle. _"Why are you calling?"_

"I want to see you, Ziva. I want to meet your Mr DiNozzo," he was greeted by static, followed by a sharp intake of breath. "Ziva?"

 _"I am fine. It was nothing. I am fine. I mean, maybe it was a contraction. It would make sense, given the same sensation I felt earlier."_ He could the nerves in her voice. _"I am going to have to call you back, Aba."_

"Ziva… _ani ohev otach._ "

 _"I love you, too, Aba."_

* * *

Tony unlocked the door to Ziva's apartment, wincing when it clicked loudly and squeaked when he opened it. The gurgling coo of his daughter allowed him to sigh in relief, grateful for the fact that he had not, this time around at least, woken her. He grinned, poking his head around the door and seeing her, squirming on her back on the floor whilst Ziva lay on her stomach next to her. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. "How was it today?"

"How was _he_ , do you mean?" He muttered. "Still not talking to me." Gibbs had been ignoring him ever since he had gotten a phone call from Ziva three weeks back asking for a lift to the hospital whilst they were interviewing a witness. He had argued that she had no control over when she went into labour, flinching under Gibbs cold glare and backing out of the witness's house and hopping into the Dodge that McGee had driven up in.

Gibbs gruff answer and the file he had rushed over being grabbed from his hand as he jumped out of the way of Tony had answered McGee's confused look.

Abby had called it whilst they were at the hospital, studying the two of them as everybody else filed out of the small room they were gathered in. _"She's got your nose,"_ she paused as Ziva dragged her eyes away from her child, _"but then, babies tend to look like their father, early on, at least. It makes abandonment less likely."_ They had both tried to deny it and she had cut them off, telling them she had realised it months ago. She had grinned gleefully, her hands clutched in front of her as Tony stepped over, pleading with her to keep quiet about it whilst they figured out how to tell everyone else.

Ducky had been next, catching them off guard at the coffee shop two streets from Ziva's apartment as they had a quiet breakfast. He had given them a proud smile, patting Tony on the shoulder and pressing a kiss to the infant's forehead before ordering his croissant and a coffee for Palmer and heading to the Navy Yard to complete the autopsy for a case.

 _"Try telling him. Admit that you are together,"_ McGee had said as he stood next to Tony in the elevator after Gibbs had spoken solely to him whilst ordering them to bring in a suspect. _"Then he might start talking to you again."_ He had raised his eyebrows at his younger colleague. _"Abby told me."_

Jenny had found out when Ziva was sat discussing the extent of her maternity leave. They had been sat in the director's office and she had simply stated that Tony was the father of her baby. Jenny had chuckled and shook her head. She had known all along. As, she smiled, everybody had.

"I will talk to him when they are all round tonight."

"Round tonight?"

"I told you, we are having everyone her so they can properly meet her."

 _Her_. Tony looked down at his little girl as he lay on the opposite side of her to Ziva. Aalijah Rebekah DiNozzo. Of course, nobody else knew about the 'DiNozzo'. To everyone else she was a David. Her birth certificate read DiNozzo, as did the passport Ziva had applied for for her. "What time?"

She looked at her watch. "Half an hour from now. I suggest you go shower," she wrinkled her nose at him before kissing her daughter's cheek and tickling her stomach.

"Who's everyone?"

"Everyone. Gibbs, Ducky, Palmer, McGee, Abby and Jenny."

He nodded and stood up, running a hand through his hair. "I'll try talking to him first. I don't want him ignoring you, too."

* * *

"Can I take Allie for a minute?" Tony asked quietly as he stood behind her.

"Of course," she smiled, handing the child over carefully. She watched as he grinned at the tiny girl before walking over to the window and to Gibbs.

"Ziva likes watching the cars go past when she can't sleep," he was quiet as the red and white lights of a car reflected off the wet tarmac. "She says it's therapeutic. I don't see it, really, but then I don't think anyone really sees things the way she sees them," Gibbs persevered with his silence and Tony sighed. "I don't know what you want me to say. I'm not sorry, if that's it. I'm not sorry that I have a beautiful baby girl."

The older man gave a rare, small smile and turned to him. "I just wanted you to admit it. My team works on trust, DiNozzo. You know that," he looked to the child in his senior field agent's arms. "She is a beautiful girl, DiNozzo. I would never have expected you to apologise for her," he tilted his head to the side, "sleeping with one of my agents, now that is something I might have liked an apology for, but I think the product is quite enough of an apology."

"So… you're not disappointed?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Why would I be disappointed in you?"

"Well, I…"

"Do you love her?"

"Huh?" Tony looked at him, rather unnerved by the sudden change in the line of questioning. He had always admired Gibbs' abilities in the interrogation room. "Yeah. Of course, I do. She's…she's everything," he paused, looking at his daughter, "well, not quite everything."

"Then I'm not disappointed."

Tony took a relieved breath, looking down at his child. "Do you…do you want to hold her?" Gibbs held his arm out, smiling when she was passed over. "Aalijah. But you can call her Allie if it's easier. Ziva said she does not really mind that much, but I can see it sometimes in her eyes when we shorten her name. I think she knows that it's gonna be hard when she gets to school for kids and teachers to say her name, although she is already looking at the nearest Hebrew and Jewish day schools."

"Why Aalijah?" Tony paused and Gibbs studied him, "if you don't mind, that is?"

He chuckled quietly. "No, no, it's uh, she had a friend, when she was in school. Elijah. Apparently, when they were teenagers, they jokingly made a deal that they would name their first-born after the other, never a serious deal – it was after a conversation about how much he disliked his name, whilst she liked it," he grew solemn. "She got a phone call from her aunt the other month, he was killed in a stabbing whilst taking a group of children on a school trip. He was not even supposed to be on the trip, but he was standing in for another teacher."

"And Aalijah is the feminine of Elijah," Gibbs nodded in understanding.

"I had no other suggestions, and she said it was her way of honouring a good, peaceful man."

Gibbs looked at his SFA proudly. "You've done a good job, DiNozzo."

"You think?"

"Yeah."

Tony nodded, running a hand through his hair to hide his grin. After a moment of semi-uncomfortable silence he turned to his boss. "You should sniff her head. She smells amazing – before she was born I would have thought it weird, but honestly, you need to smell her head."

"I know what baby smells like, DiNozzo."

"Boss, just do it. It's life-changing."

* * *

"Why did we ever think it was a good idea to take a six-week-old baby on a fourteen hour flight?" Tony grumbled, running his hand through his scruffy hair that really needed cutting.

"She was not that bad, Tony. She just got grouchy after the layover," Ziva sighed, looking down at their sleeping daughter in her car seat as they made their way towards the taxi rank. "Much like her father."

"It's not my fault that I get bored on long flights," he cracked his neck, "especially when I have a very beautiful woman sat next to me."

"I do not think I quite classify as _very_ beautiful, Tony," she dismissed him with a shake of her head.

"Well, it's a good job I was talking about the blonde on the other side of me then, isn't it?" He smirked, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing the back of her head as they waited in line.

"Well, it is a good thing that I know you are joking, DiNozzo, because otherwise I would be leaving you to deal with my father alone," there was a smirk on her face as she turned to him, touching her lips to his before resting her head on his chest.

"Worried?"

She shrugged, giving him a headshake that soon turned into a nod. "I am concerned about what he will think of you."

He paused for a moment. "Should I be offended?"

"I would not. Eli will be as critical of you as he would of any man sleeping with his daughter," the voice that came from behind Ziva made her grin, whilst Tony looked over at the older man with suspicion.

"Hadar. How have you been?" She passed Aalijah over to Tony, careful not to jostle and wake her, before properly turning around and walking over to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"How have I been? I think it should be me asking you that question," he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"We have been good," she smiled. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, taxis are extortion here."

She chuckled. "If you think they are extortion here, try DC. From here to Mossad, it would be over 56 shekels in DC."

"That is not much more, Ziva," Hadar shook his head.

"It is still a lot," she shrugged.

"Exactly. Which is why I am to be your driver for the week – direct orders from Director David himself."

"Hadar, we do not need a driver. I am perfectly capable of driving," there were snorts from both men and she threw her hands up in protest. "There is nothing wrong with my driving!"

"Ziva my child, there is everything wrong with your driving."

"Oh, so it's not just bad in America? She literally cannot drive anywhere?" Tony asked, his voice laced with glee.

"First time she drove me, I vowed never to eat before stepping into a car with her again. And I have a strong stomach."

Ziva made a face. "My car smelt of half-digested shakshouka for weeks afterwards." Tony laughed as he watched them bicker, feeling like he was watching father and daughter, despite knowing that this man was not Eli David, and thus not Ziva's father.

The older man turned to Tony suddenly, narrowing his eyes. "I apologise. We have not been introduced. Amit Hadar. A close friend of the David family."

Tony accepted the proffered hand, shaking it firmly. "Tony DiNozzo. Lover of Ziva, father of her child," he grinned, before receiving a sharp elbow to the stomach.

"If you say that to my father, I will not be responsible for anything he does to you."

"I believe my initial statement was wrong. Eli will be much more critical of you," he smirked. " _I like him, Ziva. He has humour_." The statement was murmured in Hebrew, leaving Tony in the dark as to what was said about him.

She smiled proudly, studying her partner for a long moment before nodding. " _He is a good man. The best. Other than you, of course,_ " she responded in her mother tongue too, before switching back to English for the sake of Tony. "We were planning on going to Nettie's, getting settled, refreshed, before seeing Aba."

"No problem, Ziva. He himself suggested dinner this evening. He even reserved a table at that little place you like."

"The one with the hummus?" Her face lit up.

"The one with the hummus," he nodded. "He did not think it was appropriate to meet his granddaughter at Mossad Headquarters. Although, I am certain there are a couple of officers who would love to meet her, even if they deny it."

"Would you like to meet her?"

"When she is awake," with that he was starting to walk towards the car park, looking over his shoulder to see if the couple were following. "Well, do you want to get to Nettie's or not? She will not be happy if you are late."

* * *

She was waiting for them when they arrived, standing on the doorstep of the large, Mediterranean-esque villa, a grin big enough to rival Tony's plastered across her face. She was running over to the car before Hadar had even turned the engine off, pulling open the door and almost yanking Tony out of the car as she hugged him. " _Oh, you are perfect. I can see why she likes you already. Look at that face. And those shoulders; you have good shoulders. And your kind eyes. You can tell a lot about a person by their eyes. Tall, aren't you?_ " The flurry of Hebrew left Tony rather bemuse as his upper arms were held in the old woman's vice-like grip.

" _Nettie, Tony does not speak Hebrew. I know you speak English, so can you please speak English for Tony?_ "

She huffed, turning to her niece. "You are no fun, Ziva," she opened her arms, allowing Ziva to fall into them.

The younger woman buried her face into her aunt's shoulder, her body shaking as she sobbed. " _I have missed you, Doda._ "

" _I know, child. I know._ "

"What's…? Is she okay?" Tony reached out his hand, his fingers not quite brushing Ziva's back as he looked to Amit for a translation.

"It has been a long time since they have seen one another. Young Tali's funeral was the last time they met face-to-face. Phone calls do not make up for years of absence."

"But…she said Tali died years ago. Like, years and years?" Tony had lowered his voice and moved further away from Ziva and her aunt and closer to Hadar.

"She did," Hadar's voice was tight. "Ziva was kept busy. And out of the country for a lot of the time."

The American nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Well, I guess we better unload the cases," he did not want to talk about Ziva's pain, did not want the tears that were threatening to fall at seeing her anguish to make the man next to him think he was weak.

"A wise idea, Mr DiNozzo. She will not take well to your pity."

Tony rolled his eyes. Of course, all of her family and friends were mind-readers. Just his luck.

"It is our training. You notice body language; read it. She has said that your Gibbs is very talented at it," Hadar paused for a moment before opening the boot of the SUV, "of course, training does not explain Nettie."

"Great, so, not only has she had training, she's genetically disposed to being able to read minds. Y'know, that really explains a lot. It's like she doesn't have to even look at me to know what I am thinking."

"I know what you are thinking because there are only ever two things occupying your mind – food and sex," Ziva said from behind him, her hot breath on the back of his already sweaty neck. She smirked as he tried to object. "Tali was worse, she could be in the other room and still know everything you were thinking," she reached around him and grabbed one of the suitcases, holding it out to him, all traces of tears gone from her face, as Amit took the other one. She then walked back around to the other side of the car, opening the door and unclipping Allie's car seat, swiftly lifting it out and carrying it around to where Nettie stood. "I have a surprise for you."

"She is hardly a surprise, Ziva."

"Try telling that to Tony. It took two glasses of bourbon to snap him out of his shock," she smirked as she felt Tony wrap his arms around her from behind and rest his chin on her shoulder, pulling faces at the now-awake Aalijah.

"Hey, now, you gave me no warning, okay. I think it was fair enough for me to have a moment of shock."

"Well, I was hardly pre-informed," she rolled her eyes, turning the car seat around in her hands so Nettie could meet their daughter. "Aalijah. In honour of Elijah."

"She is perfect."

"Isn't she just?" Tony grinned proudly.

Nettie looked up at him, narrowing her eyes slightly before giving a slight nod of approval. She looked like Ziva, only older. Her curly hair was greying, and there were laughter-lines crinkling her face, but she had the same molten chocolate eyes and identical facial expressions. Her clothes were brighter than Ziva's, too, with the light material of a red and blue dress swirling around her. He caught sight of the sun glistening off the gold of the necklace hanging around her neck, identical to Ziva's. "Well, we shall go inside then so I can be introduced properly. Amit, be a dear and bring their cases in."

He rolled his eyes, replying in rapid Hebrew. Nettie's response was just as sharp and from Ziva's snort Tony figured the argument was harmless and a frequent occurrence. "He threatened to stop visiting if she insisted on treating him like a slave, and she asked why Eli gets to treat him like a slave."

"He visits often?"

She was about to say something when Nettie interrupted. "Amit is an old family friend."

The look his partner gave him suggested that she would elaborate later, when there were not so many prying ears. "You have redecorated again."

"Only the entrance hall and a couple of the bedrooms. I have one all sorted out for you and Aalijah."

Tony had phased out, focused entirely on the high walls and marble floors. He could see through the archway into the lounge, and then further out into a patio area overlooking the sea. Granted, there must have been a couple of streets separating them, but it was within walking distance. His eyes caught on the clear blue waters closer to them, the pool from which the noon sunlight reflected off of.

"You do not like it?" There was a smirk in Nettie's voice and he looked back at the woman, slightly shorter than Ziva.

"It's…not what I expected," he shook his head, "but then, I don't know what I expected." He was busy taking in the sandy and terracotta walls and the stairs leading up one side of the room to an overlooking balcony.

"Well, come on through then."

He whipped his head up to where Nettie and Ziva stood in the lounge, "uh, yeah." The lounge itself had shelves filled with vases, carvings, sculptures and all sorts of trinkets from around the world. He stepped over to the side table, studying the globe. "I've never thought about globes that aren't in English," all three Israelis pressed their lips together in a poor attempted to stifle their laughter, "it's not that funny."

"No, no, it's not," Ziva shook her head, glaring at her aunt and her father's right-hand man as she walked over, kissing his cheek and fiddling with his hair, "it is kind of funny."

"You're so mean," he pouted.

"No, it just reminds me how…sheltered your life was, growing up."

"Sheltered?" He raised his eyebrows, pulling back slightly.

"It is not necessarily a bad thing, or something specific to you, more the way your education system works in America."

"Oh, and Israel has such a great education system. Yeah, that's why parents across the world send their kids here," at his sarcasm-rich tone she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Aalijah is due a feed and then I am going to put her down for a nap," she turned from him, stepping over to where she had set the car seat down. "I am taking my old room, Doda."

"Ziva…"

"We will be down for dinner."

"Ziva, do not forget that we are going out for dinner with Eli tonight," Hadar called, causing her to pause and turn back to them, deliberating.

"Can you rearrange? I do not think I can face him tonight."

"I will see what I can do," he gave a small nod as she headed upstairs.

Tony sighed, running a hand over his face. "That's the first argument we've had in over three months."

"Well, she's probably tired."

"And the thought of dinner with Eli is enough to put anyone in a bad mood," Nettie muttered. "She will be fine." Hadar murmured something in Hebrew before stepping out onto the driveway. "Please make yourself at home. I was planning on you and Ziva taking the third bedroom to the left, but she has taken her old room, so…I am sure she will come around, so you can still have the spare room if you want," she smiled, "the channels on the TV are all in Hebrew I am afraid, and so are most of my books, but the pool requires no translation. Or you might just want to sleep."

"Okay, yeah, thanks, and, uh, sorry, y'know, about making Ziva…"

"I do not think it was you that made her…whatever she is. I think she is tired and concerned about what her father will say. Anyone could have set her off," Nettie paused, looking at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "She likes you, Mr DiNozzo, and you seem to be a good man."

* * *

Ziva woke from her doze to the gentle cooing of her daughter. She smiled down at the child, clear blue eyes meeting her chocolate ones as they lay sprawled on the bed she had slept in as a child. "Did you have a good sleep? Did you? You did?" She sighed. "At least one of us did. Come on, little one," she picked her little girl up, carrying her over to the window of her old room and looking out over the garden. Tony was swimming laps in the pool, the mid-afternoon sun glistening off the muscles of his back in the water. "Daddy has been working out. He is looking good," her daughter's flailing arms and legs grew quicker, "shall we go and join him? Do you want to play in the pool?"

How Abby had managed to find a newborn swimsuit at all, Ziva did not know, having spent hours looking around shops with Tony when they were searching for clothes for their trip. Aalijah was hardly a big baby, and even many of the little dresses Tony had found would still take time to grow into, along with a couple of the babygrows. So when Abby had turned up at the door to their apartment half an hour before their taxi to the airport, toting a black and white stripped bag containing a tiny black and white striped swimsuit with a frilled skirt, Ziva did not care that it was hardly the most common colour combination one would voluntarily put their newborn in. She had sobbed into Abby's arms right up until the moment the taxi pulled up and the Goth pressed a kiss to each of the family's foreheads.

She was honestly amazed that the swimsuit fit her daughter, and that it did not look that much like something out of the Addams Family – Tony had forced her to watch it on the plane after seeing Abby's gift. She grabbed the bottle of waterproof sunscreen that was on the bedside table and dotted the cold cream onto Aalijah's nose, provoking a squeal as she stared up at her mother, wide-eyed. Ziva laughed, rubbing sun-cream on her face, arms and legs. "Is that cold?" She kissed the little girl's wriggling feet before picking her up off the bed and placing the blue bucket hat McGee had given them over her smattering of dark hair.

She jogged down the stairs of the villa, Allie's small hands fisted in the light cover-up that she had slipped over her one-piece, and walked through the living room, the terracotta tiles turning into the patio beneath her feet. She looked to her left, seeing Hadar and Nettie playing a competitive game of Shesh Besh. She stepped over to the edge of the pool, sitting down and dangling her legs in the water, holding Aalijah so that she was leaning back against her, one arm wrapped around her torso to keep her upright.

Tony broke the surface of the water, looking over to his family. "Hey."

"Hey."

"You okay?"

She bit her lip and looked away. "I am sorry about earlier."

"No, it's fine, it was my fault – I shouldn't have been sarcastic."

"I should not have said what I said in the first place."

"Ziva, it really is my fault. I was too sensitive."

"No, I should not have laughed."

"It is both of your faults. Now kiss and make up." Nettie's accented voice called across to them.

"Well, you heard the woman," Tony grinned, swimming over. He pressed himself up with his hands either side of her, touching his lips to hers. "If you didn't have Allie right now, I'd pull you in."

"Well, I am glad I have my little girl, then," she smirked as Tony pressed kisses to their daughter's nose.

"Hmm. Hey, Nettie, can you take my little girl for a minute?" He winked at her and Ziva was tempted to hit the back of his head, Gibbs-style.

"Did you just wink at my aunt?" Ziva murmured, just as Aalijah was lifted from her arms.

"It worked," he shrugged, placing his hands on her waist as he kissed her softly. She melted slightly, leaning into him and placing a hand on his wet torso.

It was the grin spreading across his lips that alarmed her, but the shock of the water as he lifted her up and pulled her in was what caused her to lash out and splash him. "I will kill you, Anthony DiNozzo, if it is the last thing I do!"

* * *

"So, Nettie and Hadar…?"

"They were something. A long time ago. Long before my mother and father had even met. I do not know the whole story, only that they had been close, went to school together I think." Ziva shrugged as she climbed into bed next to him. "He met Eli at my parent's wedding. Nettie had already taken a disliking to Eli. As far as I know, Nettie and Hadar did not even see one another after that until the day I was born. Eli does not like Nettie, Nettie does not like Eli, and Hadar likes them both. Amit was always here when I was little, always helping fix things around the house, or keeping Nettie company. I do not really know, though."

"Was it ever…romantic?"

"I think…maybe. Before he met Eli. Afterwards, I do not think so," she shrugged as she nestled into him, tucking her head under his chin and placing her hand over his as it wrapped around her stomach.

She could feel him bury his face in her hair, kissing the back of her head and nuzzling his nose against her, inhaling deeply. "You smell good."

"I would say the same about you, but I would be lying," Ziva sighed innocently, giggling as he tickled her mercilessly. "Shhh, sshhh, stop, you will wake Aalijah."

He snorted. "I will? You're the one laughing," he allowed her to regain a steady breathing pattern before pressing his lips just behind her ear, knocking her breathing back out of sync. He reached his fingers around and tapped the star that lay on the pillow by her neck. "You wear the same necklace."

"You are observant today," Ziva smirked before her smile fell. "It was my mother's. They were each given one. My mother's was given to me when she died and Nettie's would have gone to Tali."

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for? You have done nothing wrong."

He shrugged. "Bringing up bad memories, I guess."

"No, not bad memories," she rolled over so she was facing him and brought her finger up to trace his features in the dark. "I think she would have liked you. She would find you funny."

"And would I like her?" He assumed they were speaking of Tali.

"You would love her," she smiled, "I think you would see her as a little sister. Abby reminds me of her, in a way."

"Yeah?"

"You know how Abby has a childlikeness about her? A naivety, almost? Like, how excited she gets around Christmas time?"

"Yeah."

"That is what reminds me of Tali. In aspects she was wise – she had seen death, she had experienced terrible things, but part of her was still awestruck with the world. She could see the good, you know?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Tony nodded, understanding her completely. He peered over her shoulder at the clock on the side and pulled a face.

"Late?"

"Mhmm. We should get some sleep if we are to meet your father tomorrow," he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled as he stared at her. "You're beautiful."

"I do not think so."

"You should, y'know," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Oh, and why is that?"

"Well, because I say you're beautiful, and I am always right."

"Is that so? Then how come it was the ex-boyfriend and not the wife that killed the Petty Officer last week?"

"Well, I'm always right when it comes to beautiful women. And you are the most beautiful of them all," she could hear the smile in his voice, see it through the dark, and her heart melted.

"You are growing soft in old age," she muttered as she rolled back over, chuckling quietly as he grumbled and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to him.

"I'm not old."

"Mmm…keep telling yourself that."

"You're mean."

"I know," she settled her head down on his arm and closed her eyes. "Goodnight, Mr DiNozzo," she sniggered, burying her face in the pillow to stifle her laughter.

"Ugh. Can you please tell your family to stop calling me that?"

"Nope."

"Fine then, Ms David. Just wait until you meet my family."

"'Ms' makes me sound old and single."

"'Mr' makes me sound like my father."

"Touché," she mumbled, her voice finally starting to slur. "Goodnight, Tony."

"Night, Ziva. I love you."

"Mmm…love you, too."

The last thing Tony thought of as he drifted off to sleep was the smile in her sleep-heavy voice as she told him she loved him for the first time.

* * *

"Boker tov," Nettie chirped as Tony and Ziva entered the kitchen. "How do you take your eggs, Mr DiNozzo?"

"Uh, any way. What's going?"

"Amit and Ziva will be having theirs scrambled, I will be having mine boiled and you can have yours any way you would like."

"Amit stayed the night?" Ziva studied her aunt carefully.

"Eli has given him the week off to drive you around."

Ziva pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and shook her head, but shrugged whatever it was she was going to say off. "Is he at the table?"

"Should be," the older woman called as Ziva took Tony's hand and dragged him and Aalijah through to the dining room, sitting him down at the table and sitting next to him, pressing her lips to his before turning to Hadar and smiling. "Good morning."

"Someone is happy this morning," Amit narrowed his eyes. "Did you use protection this time, Ziva?"

She gasped, her eyes twinkling, just as Nettie walked through and raised her eyebrows. "Hadar, there are delicate ears in the room!"

"Ziva, she is too young to understand," Nettie smirked, "we are all adults here."

"Actually, I was talking about Tony," Ziva shrugged, standing behind him and lightly placing her hands over his ears. "You may continue now." Tony batted her hands away and she kissed his cheek, sitting back down again.

"She was very quiet if anything did happen last night," Nettie studied the young couple. "No, that is not sex-happy."

"Then what happy is it?" Hadar asked, grinding pepper over his eggs on toast.

He looked up at her as her eyes swung between the two grins at the other end of the table. "You have only just told him, Ziva? You have a baby and he only just knows?! I thought your Ima did a better job of teaching you about love than that."

She blushed, looking down. "I did not want it to be a throwaway comment. I wanted to mean it."

"And you only just realized that you meant it? I could have told you that you meant it all those months ago when you first told me about the baby!"

"Doda…"

"Do not Doda me," Nettie sighed, studying her niece. "This is your father's doing. I always said Eli was bad news."

"Nettie," there was a cautioning sternness to Hadar's voice.

"I am just saying," she held her hands up in defense before turning to Ziva and Tony at the other end of the table and smiling. "Mr DiNozzo, I will cook your eggs now. How do you want them?"

* * *

"She reminds me of you, Ziva," the older woman smiled, taking Aalijah's small hand in her own and rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. "She makes you smile."

"She is perfect. There is no reason why she should not."

Nettie chuckled. "I have never seen you laugh so much. Not even when you were a child."

"She makes me feel alive."

"No, Ziva. You have been feeling alive for a lot longer. It is him, yes? He is your life."

She snorted, shaking her head. "You are imagining things again, Nettie," she looked up at her aunt.

"But you do love him?"

Ziva sighed, pressing kisses to her daughter's stomach as she delayed answering. "Yes, I love him. Aba will not be happy."

"That will hardly be a change. Ziva, who you love is not decided by Eli. It is decided by you and your heart. Did you really only realize it yesterday?"

Ziva looked over her shoulder to where Tony was, sat at the dining table with Hadar as they attempted to set up a camcorder, lowering her voice even though she knew Tony would not understand a word she spoke. "I was concerned that he would, after a week or a month or whenever, come to his senses, wake up one morning and see that he was living with his completely insane partner and their love-child from a stupid one-night-stand. I did not want to tell him how I felt only for him to leave three days later."

"And you think he would have done that?" Nettie looked over to the subject of their discussion, frowning. "I do not."

"Well, I had to see for myself that it was not the case."

"So what changed your mind yesterday then?"

"Everything. The fact that he traveled half way across the world, to Israel of all places, for me. The fact that when I lost it he waited patiently for me to calm down and the fact that he seems to fit in so well here, with you and Amit. Just all of it. It makes me wonder how it is possible that he can be so perfect and still want me."

"Maybe that is what makes him perfect. Love is blind, Ziva. Though, love does not need to be blind with you," she placed a hand on her niece's reddening cheek, dropping a kiss to her forehead before turning back to the baby on the floor between them.

* * *

Her chest constricted slightly when her fingers brushed against the folded cotton in her search for the box of memories she had hidden away in the closet years before. She knew that if she moved her hand up by three inches and to the left by four, she would feel the circle of wool that used to perch upon her head. Her nose filled with the acrid scent of burnt flesh and plastic, the metallic undercurrent of blood turning her stomach. And then there was the subdued, day-to-day smell of burning bread drifting from the bakery next to the café that from then onwards would sicken her. Ears ringing and breath shaky, she closed her eyes, only to be presented with images of blackened limbs and bloodied faces.

"Hey? You okay?" She gasped and whirled around when his hand rested on her shoulder. "You're pale, and shaking. What's wrong?" Her hand was clutching the folded cotton on the shelf.

"I had forgotten that I left these here."

"Your fatigues?" He frowned at a stain that looked suspiciously like blood someone had attempted to wash out too late. He was not aware that Ziva had ever been injured majorly when she was in the IDF, could not recall any scars across her chest that would have led to the bloom of blood across the front of the shirt. "Whose…?"

"Tali. It was my last day in the IDF. We had been held up on a mission and I was on my way to meet Tali before joining our parents. I should not even have left to see her, but I, we, were all given special decompensation because of being held up. I was walking down the road, and she was sat at a table outside the café, waving, when…" she closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against his shoulder.

"It's okay. I understand."

"She was my little sister, Tony. She was going to go off and sing in the opera." Her voice was choked up with tears and all he could do was wrap his arms around her and press his lips to her temple.

* * *

"Hadar, I do not need a bodyguard!" Ziva snapped as they fought over who was to drive to dinner. "Stay with Nettie and enjoy her cooking."

"No, Ziva. Your father is not the only one who has accrued enemies over the years. You have too. A meeting between yourself and your father creates one of the biggest targets for any of your common enemies. And I will not take the risk of not protecting you whilst you have the baby with you," there was a pause as Ziva mulled his argument over, about to object when he stated his second reason. "And, what happens if the dinner goes badly? I hardly expect Mr DiNozzo to be able to navigate himself back here and I can guarantee that you will be in no state to drive whilst with Aalijah in the car if it goes badly. So you will need me to drive. Not only this, but your father is expecting me to follow you everywhere for your entire time here. If you turn up to meet him and I am not there, it will reflect poorly on my behalf."

She bowed her head, nodding. "You may drive, Hadar."

"Which one swayed you?" There was a curiosity to his tone.

"I pitied being in your shoes when my father finds out you were not there." Not an out-and-out lie – she would have pitied him if her father was to find out he had not obeyed his orders – but she also did not like the sudden idea of dinner with her father not going well, not in the sense that they were attacked, but more in the sense of her father being, well, her father. Eli David would never change from who is always was. And Hadar was right that there was no way Tony would be able to find his way back to Nettie's if she was in a bad state.

* * *

"Let me ask you something, Agent DiNozzo. What is it that makes you think it is acceptable for you to get my daughter pregnant and then not do her the honour of marrying her?"

"Aba, please-"

"No, it's okay, Ziva," Tony shook his head. "Sir, I asked Ziva if she wanted to marry me. I did offer. I would marry her in a heartbeat if that was what she wanted. But we discussed it and came to the conclusion that it was best for all parties involved that we should not marry, not at the moment, at least. That does not mean we are not committed to one another, we are, we just do not feel that marriage is appropriate, nor necessary, at this point in time. We have a beautiful baby girl, and there is enough love in our small family for a unit twice the size, and, I know for myself at least, I am happy, and I hope Ziva is too."

"Is this true, Ziva? You turned down his proposal?"

" _Ken_ , _Aba_ ," she nodded, looking down to her plate. She felt his eyes roaming her face before he gave a satisfied hum.

"Well then, I cannot blame you for what my Ziva refuses to do. When she makes up her mind, she does not let go."

"You don't have to tell me," Tony smiled, relief flooding through him like a tsunami with the realisation that he was not going to be tortured by Ziva's father.

* * *

"They seem to be getting on," Eli nodded over to where Hadar and Tony were stood laughing by the car outside.

"Tony likes to have older role-models – father figures. He does not get on with his own father particularly well, he was absent for most of Tony's childhood. I think Hadar has fit his ideal pretty well. Though Hadar has always struck me as more of an uncle, really…"

"Well that is probably because he spends so much time around Nettie. How is your aunt?"

"She still loathes you."

"No change there, then."

"Wishes my mother had never met you."

"Typical."

"But then, if you had never met my mother, I would not be here today."

"So, really, she should be thanking me – if I had not met her sister, she would be a lonely old spinster with no relatives at all."

"Aba," she scolded, "Nettie probably would have married and had children of her own if she had not been worrying about Ima and us all of the time." She did not mention the fact that she probably would have married Hadar had her father not gotten in the way. She looked down to the sleeping child in her arms, watching the peaceful look on her daughter's face and for a moment relishing in the peacefulness surrounding them.

"You know, the day you were born I was supposed to be working. I was waiting at the airport for a flight to London. But then I got a phone call from Amit. Your Ima had gone into labour. He would phone me again when the baby was born - he always said baby, you know: not child. I was going to get on my flight, but it just felt wrong. So I caught a taxi back home. You were fifteen minutes old when I walked through the door – a head full of dark hair and big, clear eyes. That was the happiest day of my life."

After taking a moment to absorb the story she looked up at his old face. "I never knew that."

"Well, the only person who would vouch for me out of the people there would be Amit, and the only times you would discuss such things would be around your aunt, and I doubt Nettie would entertain such ideas of me being there." He shrugged. "I am… I hope you know that I am proud of you, Ziva. You followed your dreams. You live in America. You have made so much of your life. And you have a beautiful daughter."

"She is," Ziva smiled, unable to say anything more to the unexpected praise. "Would… I mean… do you want to hold her?"

* * *

"They seem to be getting on," Tony murmured, looking anywhere but through the window at his daughter, Ziva and her father.

"I think Eli is trying to redeem himself. He has made many mistakes over the years, most detrimental to his relationship with Ziva. He is getting old and he regrets that."

"Regrets getting old or-"

"Regrets ruining things between himself and his only living child. He keeps a photo of her in his desk drawer. There is one of her as a child on his desk, one that I believe Ziva keeps, too, but there is one of her as an adult, possibly a surveillance image from when she first moved to the US. I think sometimes he needs reminding of how much she has achieved."

"Then why not just keep it on his desk?"

"Because he believes it is unprofessional. Having a photo of your children when they were actually children is all very well, but having a photo of one of your officers – it is a whole different kettle of fish in his eyes."

"But most people know that Ziva is his daughter at Mossad, don't they?"

"Of course they do, he just does not think it is right. Eli's moral code can be...difficult to understand at first-"

"You can say that again."

"-But to him it makes sense, and it is the code he has lived by all of his life."

* * *

"I think that went well."

"You have been practicing that speech in front of the mirror, have you not?" Ziva smirked.

"No. Well, maybe just once or twice," he shrugged. "I just knew it was a question that was going to come up and I thought I should be prepared for it."

"I am glad you were. I was worried he would be…him," she frowned. "I am surprised, really. I have never seen him like this before."

"Perhaps Aalijah's presence softened him," Tony suggested as they walked to Hadar's car.

"I almost certainly think you are right, Mr DiNozzo," Amit said as he walked up behind them, unlocking the car. "Back to Nettie's?"

"Can we take the route by the sea?"

"Of course."

* * *

Grains of warm sand, slowly cooling now the sun had set, slipped between the toes of their bare feet as they walked along the beach, the high tide lapping at the shore a few yards from them. Hadar followed twenty paces behind, occasionally picking up handfuls of sand and letting them fall like an hourglass. "Tony, I need to ask you something."

"Anything. You know that," he smiled at her, shifting Aalijah in his arms.

"I…I want to know if you are, honestly and truthfully, okay with not getting married."

"I thought we had already discussed this. Look, don't let anything your dad said upset you or anything. We're doing what's right for us."

"No," she shook her head, "we are doing what is right for me. I never asked whether you actually wanted to marry me."

Tony stopped, sighed and sat down on the sand, looking out towards the ocean. He dug his feet into the sand and lay their daughter against his thighs, playing with her little toes. Ziva stood next to him, frowning at his sudden halt, until he looked up at her and patted the sand next to him. When she was settled he took a breath and began, slowly, to talk, choosing his words wisely. "I am…okay…with not marrying you. I understand and accept that that is what you want, and I do agree that it is not necessary, for us or Aalijah, for us to be married. But, being okay with not marrying you does not mean that do not want to marry you, because I do."

"Well, then, we can get married. You should not just go along with what I want just because it will make me happy, if it does not also make you happy."

He shook his head. "No, Ziva. We shouldn't get married."

"But you just said-"

"I just said that, one day, I would like to marry you. But not now. Not today. Maybe not ever. Gibbs will say that marriage is a compromise-"

"I do not think he would. I think he would say that marriage is messy."

"Well, I want Gibbs to say that marriage is a compromise. But the one thing I don't think should be a compromise is marriage itself."

"I do not understand that."

"I mean that I don't want to have to compromise over whether we get married. I only want to get married when we _both_ want to get married. Not because you do not want me to be disappointed, because I could never be disappointed in you. Never." He shook his head and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know about you, Ziva, but I think that what we have now is pretty great. We have a surprisingly stable relationship, an amazing little girl, your father doesn't want to kill me and we have Gibbs' approval. We're good as we are."

"I agree. Although, I think you are wrong about one thing. We are not pretty great, I think we are amazing."

He laughed quietly and nodded, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her to him. "I love you."

"I know." He smiled softly, looking down at Aalijah as she cooed.

And then his jaw dropped. "McGee gave you a copy of Star Wars to watch when you were on maternity leave, didn't he?"

 **I had this Jewish boyfriend and I used his grandmother as my inspiration for Nettie. I honestly think I loved her more than I loved him – I spent more time with her, at any rate. Her kitchen was one of my favourite places in the world because it was always warm and it always smelt so good.**

 **Well, I guess that is all, folks. Maybe we will meet again over another story. Maybe we will not. I guess it all just depends upon whether the sun rises tomorrow and whether I continue to write down my ramblings. I think I probably will, much like I think the sun will probably rise tomorrow. But we can never really know. We just have to take it on faith.**


End file.
